In the Chocolate Factory
by anotherblastedromantic
Summary: Two years have passed since Willy Wonka opened his giant chocolate factory, and Charlie Bucket's beginning to feel the stress of it. And, to add to his troubles, a very strange relative has decided to pay a visit to the Buckets. VERY random.
1. Two Years Later

Author's Note: Hello, Wonka fans! You probably are a Wonka fan, and/or you're just bored and you wanted to read something new and strange, so you decided to click on my story. First, thank you for clicking. It gives me great pride when you click. I hope you will keep clicking. But for now, stop clicking and read the first chapter of my strange little story and tell me what you think.

* * *

In the past two years, life had gotten extremely good for one of the world's most agreeable children, Charlie Bucket. Two years ago, he lived in a ruddy old shack with his mother, father, and four grandparents. All his peers (I say peers, for he had no friends,) made fun of him for his funny patched-up clothes, and gorged on their delicious Wonka bars nonchalantly. Charlie only got one Wonka bar a year for his birthday, the rest of the year was filled with cabbage soup and longing and dreaming of those brilliant bars- looking out into the colossal chocolate factory that could be seen from his window. Oh, how he wanted to go into that factory! But it was shut tight- no human ever went in out of it. Then, one day, the mastermind of the best candy in the world, Willy Wonka, had an ingenious idea to send five tickets out into the world, hidden under the wrappers of the Wonka chocolate bars, and whoever found them would get to go into his factory and one would be chosen for a special prize at the end. Charlie watched every day as four awful children announced they had found the golden tickets- names of Veruca Salt, Mike Teavee, Violet Beauregard, and Augustus Gloop. But he never suspected to one day buy a bar with some found money in the street, and uncover the last one! Charlie raced home to tell his family of the wonderful news, and the next day he found himself standing outside of the giant candy-making palace, entering the forbidden gates alongside of his Grandpa Joe into the Wonka Chocolate Factory. Soon, he met the great genius of candy himself- Mr. Willy Wonka. Although rather strange, Mr. Wonka showed the five around his marvelous factory, which was more amazing than his wildest dreams. However, for the other brats, strange things started happening to them, such as getting sucked up in a river of chocolate, blowing up to the size of a blueberry, getting shrunken to the size of a fountain pen, things like that. Finally, Charlie was the last one to- shall we say survive?- the tour. And the prize for winning was to inherit the Wonka Chocolate Factory. After a random and very Roald Dahl-like journey to another world in a glass elevator, Charlie, his grandfather, and Mr. Wonka returned home, and soon moved in to the giant factory with Wonka. Charlie and Wonka were left to think up of brilliant new candy ideas, which is where we begin our story…

Charlie sighed. His creative juices were not flowing today. He had been up all night with the Oompa-Loompas, (little people who work in the factory, in case you didn't know,) trying to fix a leak in the fudge-room pipes. It was a very messy and sweet situation, but he was dead tired now. His mother was tending to his grandparents at the moment, and his father was at work in the tooth-paste factory. He was sitting in the candy room (well, I can't think of anything to call an edible candy-filled room but the candy room, so there,) sipping some hot razzletazzleberry tea, watching the Oompa-Loompas test the temperature of the chocolate river. His eyelids drooped, and his chin sagged into his chest. Who knew that working in such a non-adult job would make him feel so old? He didn't get how Willy did it. Maybe it was the sugar high. Willy was addicted to candy like nicotine or something. And Charlie had seen Wonka go without candy. Not a pretty picture. He was starting to drift into colorful, Tim Burton-y dreams when he heard Willy's voice at the speaker.

"_Charlie, please report to the Whipping Crème Room. There's something wrong with the cow and she's putting out taco-flavored crème and it's really freaking me out and… well, just report to the Whipping Crème Room immediately._"

Charlie groaned, and hoisted himself out of the W-shaped chair. He was only 15, and his joints were starting to get slow. He motioned a pink dragon boat sailing down the luscious river to stop, and told the Oompa-Loompa rowers to take him to the room he was needed in. As they sped down the tunnel and made a jerky stop at the designation, Charlie reminded the lead rower to work on the brakes. The lead rower nodded. Charlie stepped out of the boat, and opened the glass door to the Whipping Crème Room, where Willy nervously was waiting, and strode over to tell him of the damage. The cow mooed with disdain, spurting out some frothy red-orange stuff that smelled of peppers. The Oompa-Loompas were edging away nervously. Charlie yawned. He had a feeling this was going to be another long day.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

A dirty figure dashed across the flat margin of the _St. Luna Tik's Facility for the Psychologically Disturbed_, eyes on the wired gate ahead. After two years of digging with a spork (please don't ask me how) out of the badly-constructed building, she was not about to let swampy mud stop her now. It from the gate to her cell, it was about a mile. She dashed as quickly as she could, anticipating when the alarm would sound. She had tried a different approach to escaping about four years ago, but now that she was sure the guards were not watching their backs she had to make a quick, bold dash for it. She was almost there… yes! Clambering over the steely fence, she hopped over the edge, careful no to catch her uniform on the barbed wire, and landed in a crouched position, running again, but this time, into the city. The alarms droned behind her in the distance, a blinding spotlight swerving around the grounds, cutting wildly through the darkness. She hid behind the closest thing around, a stumpy little tree surrounded by a little stone wall, worn from wind erosion. 6 years of working in the… place… had made her quick and strong. She could take the journey to the city. The panting figure's back slid down the tree, calculating how far it might be from here. She would have to move fast, and keep from the main roads; they would be looking for her, with dogs, most likely, maybe even more. But no matter. She was out, and now she was going home- to the only people in the world that she knew would take her in.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, whaddya think? A little short, but the next chapters might be longer. Review, I beg of you! Thankies. 


	2. A Burglar or a Candymaker?

Author's Note: Hey look! I published another chapter! Really, I hadn't expected to publish another one this fast. And I got reviews! Awesome.

To **Redberry Greenleaf:** Woot! You reviewed! You reviewed! How excited I am! I hope you will like this one as much as you did the last one. And I'll think up an idea for the dancing scene. Mwhahaha…

To **PucktoFaerie:** First, cool name. Shakespeare's muh home-boy. Second, sorry about the big intro, but it's a habit of mine. You know, kind of like a signature in your personal style of writing. I tend to explain things, just to be descriptive. I appreciate you fortitude. Thanks for the props!

Okay, there are a few things in here that might be off. For example, I haven't seen both movies in a long time and I don't have my copy of the Roald Dahl book anymore, so I can't remember who the crazy grandma is. I randomly pick… Georgina! There. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

* * *

It had been a rather gloomy day for Mr. Bucket, who was returning home from his job of fixing things at the toothpaste factory. His day at work was very dismal- the screwing-on-lid machine kept breaking down in all sorts of places and when he fixed them another leak sprung. Very irksome indeed. Well, at least he was coming home to a warm meal and good family. Charlie had returned home from school now, probably had done his homework, (though sometimes Mr. Bucket caught an Oompa-Loompa looking over some geometry) and was doing "business" with Mr. Wonka, but to the family he was Willy. He decided, for some random reason, to see what had become of the tiny lot their house used to be in while on his homeward journey. He strolled by the gloomy old residence, gazing upon the muddy old patch of land, which seemed to glow yellow in the setting sun's light. But wait! What was this? On the other side of the lot, there stood a ruddy figure, huddled over a damp piece of paper. The figure studied it with solemn concentration, hands twitching a bit. Mr. Bucket stopped to stare at the person for a minute in strange fascination, when the person looked up. 

Although frizzy strands of hair blocked the muddy face, Mr. Bucket could still recognize that face from afar. His mouth fell open in surprise. No… no, it couldn't be… but it had to be!

The figure recognized him as well, straightened up, and waved her arm, rushing through the muddy, empty lot to where Mr. Bucket was standing in disbelief. "Oh _there_ you are, John. I thought you'd be in your house. But there _is_ no house, so it would be very odd for you to be sitting in a bunch of mud. I mean, it isn't to odd for _me_ to be sitting in mud, in fact I crawled through it for a few hours last night. But you look so clean and shaven, so I assume you wouldn't be living in mud. So where do you live? Did you decide to go underground? Is it nice down there? I expect it would be messy in this weather. And where's the rest of the family? Are they underground too? You know, Father always wanted to build a house underground after the second world war-"

"S-Sarah?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"Why of course it's me, John! Did you get amnesia while I was away? I think you did. That would explain your gawky blank expression and why your house is gone. Well just to clue you in, my name is Sarah Olivia Bucket, and I am your sister. Your name is John Bucket, and you are married to Hannah Bucket, and you have a son named Charlie. Oh, by the way, how is Charlie? He is such the sweetest boy, you know. Oh, you don't know. Well, you have a very sweet son, and I don't know if you have any other children, because they don't let us have letters at the-"

"I know who you are, and I don't have amnesia," hissed Mr. Bucket, "What I want to know is what are _you _doing _here_?"

The babbling woman shrugged. "Oh, I got tired of that old place, John. The food there is unbearable, and they think you don't know it's unbearable because you're out of your mind. And everyone treated me like I was a child or I was crazy or something. Isn't that awful? Well, after a couple of years I just grabbed a spork and started digging. I dug, and dug, and dug, until I finally popped out. And then I decided to come give you a visit, being as I have nowhere else to go, and anyone else who would see me would think I was a lunatic or something."

Mr. Bucket sighed. He didn't comment on that last statement. Instead, he took her muddy arm (she looked to have some shreds of an undone straightjacket on, perhaps,) and guided her to the humongous factory in which his family now resided in.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Mr. Bucket decided to take the back passageways to the Chocolate Room, the ones that no one but an occasional Oompa-Loompa janitor used. He didn't want anyone to see her; not yet. He would have to get her into their home so wouldn't go exploring things. Indeed, right now his younger sister seemed quite curious about the factory.

"What an admirable mansion you live in! You've stepped up quite a bit from that old shack you lived in. But it's a tad gloomy and dark, don't you think? I've tripped over things four times now. Whoops… ow… that's a fifth time. Don't you have any electricity or candles or something?"

"Ssh, Sarah, you must be quiet," he opened a back door to the Chocolate Room, guiding her to the house.

"Now this is more like it! So colorful! Something smells like chocolate. We never got any chocolate at-"

Mr. Bucket pushed her into the house, shutting the door. Mrs. Bucket looked up, giving the same look of awe as her husband. "Sarah? Is it really you?"

"Does _everyone _have amnesia in this place? Of course it's me, my dear sister-in-law. How wonderful to see you!" she strutted over to Mrs. Bucket to give her a hug. "Oh, no, I mustn't do that, I'm all dirty and you're all clean. What a lovely little house! It's so wonderfully cozy. And the mansion outside is really a nice touch. Did you win the lottery?"

Mrs. Bucket led her rather absent-minded sister-in-law to a chair, where she sat her down and began to talk with her.

"How did you get here?"

"Why, I broke out, of course! I missed my home and family."

"How did you break out?"

"She dug her way out with a spork and crossed the mudbank to get here. I found her out by our old lot," said her brother, crossing his arms.

"Oh, don't talk about me like I'm a lost puppy or something, John. He always did that. Even when he was 9. What a good big brother you are, John. But you mustn't fret. I found my way here, and I can go away any time you like. I just wanted to visit."

"Of course you can stay here, Sarah! Stay as long as you want." Mrs. Bucket said, patting the grimy hand. "But it's a very big surprise to see you here after six years. And it's an even bigger shock to know that you _broke_ your way out of an asylum."

The muddy woman flinched at the word. She remained silent, hands folded. Finally, she asked in a more controlled, quiet tone, "Where are my parents?"

"They're sleeping at the moment. Why don't you wait here and wash up, I'll go get Charlie, and then we'll talk over some tea," Mrs. Bucket said, smiling.

"That's sounds lovely. I haven't had tea in quite a while," Sarah said, smiling back. Mrs and Mrs. Bucket stood up, walked over to a corner, and talked in hushed voices.

"What are we going to do, John? There will be people looking for her. And they will probably come to us first."

"We'll deal with that later. But right now we have to focus on asking Willy if she can stay."

Mrs. Bucket looked out of the window. An Oompa-Loompa was plucking some toffee-filled doodle-fuggle fruits off a tree. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Why don't you go get Willy and I'll go get Charlie."

"But what about your sister?"

"She's a good girl. She knows how to behave politely in someone else's house." He smiled. Mrs. Bucket gave him a very dubious look that said, _Darling, your sister is an escaped lunatic from a badly-run asylum. I wouldn't be too sure on her social skill right now._ Mr. Bucket sighed, and turned to Sarah.

"Alright, sister. Here's the thing- the reason we live in this enormous place is that a very kind man who's a friend of Charlie's offered for us to come and live with him. This is technically his house, so I need you to stay in here and not do anything else. Got it?"

"Got it." Sarah stared out the window at the brown river.

"Good." And with that, Mr. Bucket grabbed his wife's hand and headed out the door.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Willy Wonka was again in distress. Everything seemed to be breaking down lately. The factory wasn't _that_ old, but it behaved like an old man sometimes. He must remember to give the factory a good sermon on candy factory life spans and how factories are supposed to behave. He tapped his candy-filled cane on the floor of the glass elevator nervously. He was heading diagonally to the Chocolate Room, and diagonally made him a little tense. If Charlie wasn't in his house doing that awful, pointless stuff those horrible "educators" give every night, he would be somewhere in the Toffee Room. Willy's mind drifted into old memories of when he was a child and how his… ugh… what was that thing called? Oh yes, _teacher_,Willy grimaced at the word, would always load him up with awful things like math and English and science. And they were very silly questions too. Honestly, what does a child need to know these days except for equations on how to make Raspberry Divinity, the formula for fudge, speaking Oompa-Loompanese, and things like that? English was one of the worst. His English were that there goodest already! He gave the buttons a few impatient pushes, tapping his shiny shoe, and scratching underneath his top hat. He also must remember to remind the Oompa-Engineers to try to make the glass elevator go faster. As he passed Fudge Mountain, he gave a wave to some of the climbers. Passing over the halls, he glanced for a second at a hurrying Mr. Bucket across the corridors. When Mr. Bucket spotted him,the excited manbegan to jump and wave his arms like some Trianadoid. Willy waved back, a little scared. He still was getting to know Mr. Bucket, and he didn't quite get some of the weird things that parents did. He wondered what he would do if he were a parent.

"Ew, that's gross." He told himself, shuddering. The glass elevator began to slow, and stopped outside the Chocolate Room. Exiting the whirring translucent thing, he activated a few numbers, and opened the door, striding in towards the little house. He gave a few nods to the working Oompa-Loompas, approaching the house. He knocked a few times, before jiggling the handle and letting himself in.

"Charlie? Charlie, are you here?" he asked. Stepping into the house, he could see muddy footprints leading all over the wooden floor and behind the corner into another room. Willy's amethyst eyes narrowed, and he stepped quietly towards where the footprints led. "Charlie?" he asked again, glancing behind him out the window to see if the boy was outside. He turned back, right into the face of a muddy, frizzy-haired thing. "AAIIIIIIII!" he gave a girlish squeal, leaping several feet behind the couch. The thing screeched back, flailing its arms and tripping over a chair.

"Oh my Gumdrops! It's a Squeezledork!" he shrieked, grabbing a pan. The Squeezledork stood up, and stopped screeching.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in my brother and sister's house?" she demanded. Willy stared at the being from behind his fortress.

"You know, my brother will be home any minute! He doesn't like burglars! I don't like burglars either, just so you know. Once, someone tried to burgle my dorm in college and I knocked them into a coma with a hairdryer!" she grabbed one of Charlie's discarded textbooks. The two circled each other, glaring.

"What have you done with Charlie?" he asked lowly, clutching his pan.

"What have _I_ done with him! I'm not a criminal! _You're_ the burglar! You really should get your careers straight, you know."

"I'm not a burglar! If I was, I'd be wearing black, now wouldn't I?" Willy reasoned. The muddy thing stopped.

"Well, you do have a point there. Not many burglars come into houses wearing purple."

Indeed, he didn't look like a burglar. The man was very tall, (maybe it was because of the tall top hat he was wearing, with a magenta and green band wrapped around the base,) and had on a very nice purple suit. He had a cane too, did that mean he was distinguished, or decrepit? But his face was even more entrancing than his outfit. He had clear violet eyes, that seemed to glimmer withperiwinkle bluespecks inside, with a face as pale as ivory. His hair was also quite interesting. It was the color of dark chestnuts, fashioned into a girly bob, and at that, Sarah commented, "Do all burglars have silly hairdos like yours?"

"It's not silly! And I am _not _a burglar! I'm a candy-maker." He said, first complaining and then very proudly.

"Wow. What a coincidence. You know, this factory actually belongs to a candy-maker. His name is Willy Wonka, and he's a very brilliant architect. And I bet he makes 97 times as great candy as you'll ever make. And he certainly doesn't go barge in into people's houses, trying to rob them or kidnap their nephews/sons/grandsons or whatever."

Willy brightened. "Do you really think I'm that brilliant?"

"No, stupid-head. I said Willy _Wonka_. Now, I suggest you leave before he comes and finds you here and makes you into bubble-gum or something."

Willy paused at the thought. It would be very hard for him indeed to make himself into bubblegum. He wondered if he would taste good. He probably would.

"You won't leave? Fine." And with that, the muddy frizzy thing pounced on top of the squealing candy man and started to wrestle him to the door. To Willy's relief, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket burst in with Charlie at that moment.

"Sarah! What on earth!" Mrs. Bucket proclaimed.

"Aaugh!" Willy said, underneath Sarah's torso.

"Hey, Aunt Sarah," Chalie said, grinning.

"Oh, hello, Charlie! My, how you've grown! Come here and give your auntie a kiss! I was just taking care of this burglar for you."

She released the struggling purple chap and went to give her nephew a kiss on the cheek. Willy got up, made a desperate attempt to rub off the mud on his clothes. "Ew, she's all dirty!" he whined and shuddered, as if he were being dumped into a tub of earthworms and centipedes and such. Charlie flicked a chunk of soil off the eccentric mysophobic. He paused, trying to remember the names of all the other phobias that Willy was related to.

"Sarah?" Mr. Bucket asked incredulously, turning towards his sister. She seemed to not notice.

"I told you, he was looking for Charlie and he kept on saying he wasn't a burglar, but then he grabbed a pan and I had to take him down! I'm sure the owner of this factory and the heads of security here will be very pleased with me."

"Dear, he _is_ the owner of the factory," Mrs. Bucket said gently, brushing Wonka off. "And the security team's right outside, waiting for instructions."

Sarah's eyes darted from her victim, who was glaring daggers at her, and to her family. "Then he's… that's… ohhhh," she said, looking at the ground, then to Wonka. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"

"I was _trying_ to tell you, but then you up and tackled me," Wonka said, rapping his cane with aggravation.

Sarah's gaze crashed at her feet. "Ah. I'm dreadfully sorry," she said, "I misunderstood you."

"You bet your bonbons you did!" he said, once again shuddering at the thought of what might be in his clothes.

"Willy," Charlie said, addressing him in an informal, friendly manner, "She's my aunt. And she did mean well, you know. She also needs a place to stay, and here's the only option, with her family."

Willy's thin lip curled at the word. He was still getting over automatic reactions to anything relating to the word _parents._

"I won't be any more trouble," Sarah said, standing. "Honestly. And I'll make a point to keep a meter's distance from you at all times. No more tackling," she said, giving a wild smile.

Willy stared at the dirty thing in distain. Well, she was Charlie's aunt, but she's filthy! Filthiness is bad. Very bad. Bad germs. But if she stays indoors all day, then-

"Well, I guess you could stay for a little while, if you don't get in the way," Willy said, reluctantly, "But clean up immediately. You're all… icky." And with that, he turned on his shiny leather heel, striding out the door, careful to not get any more dirt on him. He paused, and poked his head back through the doorway. "Oh yeah. Charlie, you're needed in the Chocolate Chip Rookie room." and went out.

Mrs. Bucket quickly drew a bath for her sister-in-law and lent her some of her clothes. Mr. Bucket went with Charlie, and Mrs. Bucket boiled some tea for the grandparents, who were due to wake up soon. Sarah shed her ruddy once white uniform, now a dingy grayish-brown with streaks of green. She also had on something of a crudely sewn straightjacket; it wasn't a normal one that you couldn't get out of easily, but something the nurses might help "calm her down". Sarah rolled her eyes. Just because she wasn't babbling in another language or not saying anything ever didn't mean she was abnormal, it just meant she wasn't like the others locked up at the...place. She stepped into the bath, the water turning brown from all the dirt. Sarah had to rinse off, drain the dirty tub, and fill it again to get a proper bathing. When she was finished, she felt new and regenerated. All those layers of dirt were becoming rather cumbersome. She donned Mrs. Bucket's clothes: a small white blouse, a purple-green-and grey plaid skirt that fell to her knees, some green-and-black stripedstockings, and some leather boots that looked like galoshes on her. She looked herself up and down in a mirror. Her outfit was rather uncoordinated and tacky, but she hadn't really cared about those sort of things since she was taken away to… well, she didn't want to think about that anymore. Besides, she smiled, she fit in perfectly with the rest of the colorful, strange atmosphere of the factory. Her thoughts dwelled back to Mr. Wonka. She felt a hefty amount of guilt upon her as she remembered taking the poor man down. How nice of him to let her stay. Maybe she'd write him a thank-you note. She swept her hair up in a loose bun, trying desperately to keep those blasted strands from coming down. It was no use, so she just headed downstairs. Her brother's parent-in-laws and her parents had woken up and were chatting amongst themselves about things.

"I could hardly sleep with those Oompady-Shnoompady things about. They make too much noise with those machines." Grandpa George gruffly stated.

"It's a factory, you humbug. Everything's noisy," Grandpa Joe replied.

"Well I think they're just the most darling things ever to grace the planet," Grandma Josephine smiled, "I love the little tykes."

"I love it in the fall when they turn that wonderful shade of deep orange," Grandma Georgina said, staring out the window.

"We're talking about the little people, remember, Georgina?" Grandma Josephine said.

Grandma looked at her. "Really? When did we switch from pumpkins to Oompa-Loompas?"

"Hullo, everyone," Sarah said, joining them.

"Hello, Sarah. Did you have a nice vacation at _St. Luna Tik's?_" Grandma Georgina said, not looking up.

"It was very nice, thank you." Sarah answered.

"Well, that's good. It's always nice to get a vacation for a little while. Tell me, did you remember to pick up that carton of eggs on your way home that I told you to get, before you left?"

"No, I don't think I did. Sorry, mother."

"That's alright. But you really should write these things down, dear. You can be a little absent-minded at times. You get it from your father."

Sarah crossed over to give her father a kiss. I suppose since they were growing forgetful in their ripe age they forgot that their daughter (or son-in-law's sister) had been shipped away to an asylum and hadn't seen them for six years.

"Where's Charlie?" Grandpa Joe asked.

"He went with Willy and John to go and fix something," Mrs. Bucket replied, serving the tea.

"Such a nice young man," Grandma Josephine smiled. "Have you met him yet, Sarah?"

"We had a brief encounter," Sarah looked into her teacup, "He seemed very… benevolent."

"He smells like peanuts!" Grandma Georgina stated happily.

"That's the fourth time you've reminded us of that this week, Georgina," Grandpa George said, "I think you've drilled it into our frail old skulls by now,"

"Of course, sometimes when those two have been working I find he smells a bit like peanuts and vanilla," Grandma Georgina continued, "I like vanilla nut cake with green icing!"

"That does sound good," Sarah said.

"We don't have nay cake right now," Mrs. Bucket said, "but I do have a package of Wonka's Strawberry Fudge-filled Scones. Would anyone like some?"

"That sounds lovely," Grandpa Joe said.

So, they helped themselves to some scones and tea, carrying on a lovely evening, the Oompa-Loompa security force several meters away, keeping a close eye on the new guest.

* * *

Author's Note: Grandma Georgina reminds me of myself… o.O 


	3. Highschool Crushes and Seahorses

Auhtor's Note: Hello, dear readers! I… eh, nevermind. I'm too lazy to bother with author's note today. Let's get on to the story.

* * *

Charlie was trying to keep his eyes open as his chemistry teacher droned out the periodic table and all its wonderful perks. He tried to count the periodic table's perks… at least he wasn't in Trigonometry. Well, there's one. What made it worse was that he knew most of the material being taught, and this droning tone made it even harder to pay attention to. Firstly, he was experimenting with formulas such as these at work, and secondly, his aunt had taught him a lot about science back when she was a-

"Mr. Bucket, are you listening to me?" the teacher asked, eyes half-closed.

"Hm? Oh, yes ma'am. Every word," he said politely, sitting up.

"Mm," the teacher said, unconvinced, turning back to her lesson. Her voice seemed to have a narcotic effect on even her. Charlie went back to his notes. A few minutes later, the bell rang. Charlie grabbed his books, and tunneled his way to the inner clump of adolescents shuffling their way out, so as not to attract attention and avoid a good "talking-to" from the teacher after class. When he was out of the classroom and safe, he turned to go to his next class, but was stopped when a soft voice came from behind.

"Er, Charlie?" it said. Charlie whirled around, to see a small girl with smooth skin like porcelain and a rosy blush, with lips the color of cherries and hair the color of maple. She shifted uncomfortably. His eyebrows raised into his shaggy brown hair. "Hey. I d-don't think I've ever introduced myself before, I'm Chelsea Brown. Listen, I've been meaning to ask you this for sometime- um…" she paused, looking up. Her eyes were a dewy, clear green. She looked for words. "Mrs. Jennings is a real witch, isn't she?" she said, smiling.

Charlie's eyes were as wide as saucers. He didn't hear her for a minute. "Y-yes." He managed to say.

"Yeah. Well, she's threatened to fail me because of my grades, but whenever I ask her to explain her material after school she just shrugs it off. I think I might need a tutor or something. It's not that I'm stupid or anything, I'm just a little slower to learn than the rest. S-so, I was thing, you know, if you're not too busy, that maybe I could, um, go over the material again with you, because, you know, you're so smart and all."

Charlie's mouth was gaping open, and he shut it. He _was_ making A's in most classes, but no one had ever flattered him like that. "Th-thanks," he stuttered.

"Oh. You're welcome. So, would you mind?" her eyes looked hopeful. It was like some sort of wave of endearing flooded from those eyes, and it made you want to melt, give her the world, and hold her, all at the same time. After a few seconds of dreamy similes and metaphors, Charlie composed himself and said, "No- I mean yes- I mean no, I wouldn't mind."

Chelsea smiled. "Great! Well, I'll see you around…."

They stood awkwardly like that, before one of her friends called her name, and she hurried over to meet her. "See you around," Charlie said quietly, turning and walking on.

Charlie wasn't really popular. You would expect him to be, after the famous world-wide search for the five Golden Tickets, and for some time he was; people learned of how he was the last person to discover a ticket and go into the colossal and mysterious factory. But Willy had thought it was best if Charlie kept the amazing insides of the factory still a secret, just to be safe from "idea-stealing-no-good-awful-lying-back-stabbing-malevolent-cads." So, when he finally returned to school (Mrs. Bucket didn't think Oompa-Loompa tutors was a very good idea,) he gave very short, vague answers to the billions of '_what was it like in there_'s, or '_what was Willy Wonka like_'s, and the occasional '_was Willy Wonka really hot, was he single_'s that desperate schoolgirls would pester him with, giving him very gross visions in his head that he didn't want in there. But eventually, all the questions and masked popularity died off, Charlie going back to the same quiet, passive, nice, poor image that he was normally known for. No one had any idea he was the heir to the most ingenious candy maker in the universe. But now- a girl talked to him. A _hot_ girl talked to him. A slow grin spread across Charlie's face. He was beginning to have one of those optimistic feelings that things were going to get better. He checked his watch. But they might get worse if he didn't hurry on to class.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Meanwhile, in the complex labyrinth of the Chocolate Factory, Aunt Sarah was experiencing no feelings of optimism at all. Rather, boredom. Her schedule for six years involved waking up at dawn to have a nurse poke her with medicine, and then wandering aimlessly for the rest of the morning around the dull grey facility, trying to block out all the moans and squeals of all the other nut-jobs. The thought of nuts made Sarah even more bored. A whole factory outside waiting for her, and she had instructions to stay in the house. Sarah got up from the couch to see if there were any nuts in the house. Nope. She hadn't really expected there to be. After all, there was probably a rich supply of them outside. Mrs. Bucket was out shopping for groceries. The old people were still asleep. And the faint sound of those little people's footsteps in the distance was welcoming. Sarah took a few strides to the door, looking out the side window. Oooooohhh… everything was very shiny and colorful. Maybe just a short walk outside around the house…

Sarah's hand slowly unturned the knob, and she found herself stepping out into the light. There were little people a short distance away. They looked up at the sound of her. Sarah thought it best to not be rude, and go up and talk to them.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" she smiled. The little person looked up at her, and nodded gravely. He was probably 1/3rd of her size, but he seemed to have the intensity of a giant.

"Do you think anyone will mind if I'm out here?" she said, eyes darting over her shoulder to the house. The little person shrugged. "Good. You see, it's just so terribly boring in there, and I don't have anyone to talk to at the moment."

The little man nodded, and continued on with his work. Sarah supposed he meant for her to talk to him while he worked. "So, what was your name again?"

The small guy pointed to his nametag. It read _Larry, (Oompa-Loompa #1,856,395,930)_.

"Ah. Nice to meet you. So, Oompa-Loompas are the little men who look exactly like you running all over the place, working?"

Larry, or Oompa-Loompa 1,856,395,930, nodded. Sarah didn't ask him how many Oompa-Loompas there were working in the chocolate factory, because obviously he didn't say much and he couldn't tell her on his little chubby fingers. So, she proceeded in engaging in a thorough discussion of seahorses and their lifestyle. Larry was a good listener, she liked him. They made their way around the chocolate room, Sarah talking of how interesting it would be if human males bore children, and if Oompa-Loompa males bore children. Larry gave her a very long stare, and Sarah supposed that meant no. She sat by a bright yellow tree with curvy branches, with little striped candies hanging at the ends. Sarah plucked one off the branch, and asked if she could have it. Larry nodded, plucking the rest off the branches and putting them into a sack. Sarah began to devour the little candy like a little kid. It was like nothing she had ever tasted before. It tasted of strawberries and some sort of melon, swirled together in a creamy sensation that made her mouth tingle.

"It's wonderful!" Sarah said through her candy. Once she had swallowed it, Larry beckoned her to open her mouth, and checked inside. Her tongue, to her amazement, and turned the exact color of the candy- swirls of pastel pink and green.

"Ooooh… that's cool," she said, but really since her tongue was out it sounded like, "Woooo… dath cuwel," Larry nodded. Suddenly, a faint sloshing sound echoed from the tunnel over the brown river. Larry looked up, alarmed, and began to push Sarah back to the house. That unforgettable girly voice was enticed was the echoes coming from the tunnel. From the shadows emerged a busy Wonka chatting with a little Oompa-Loompa in big glasses with a check board. They were sitting on a bright pink boat in the shape of a dragon.

"Okay, so now that the Klonko-soda-whizsnappers making machine is back to normal, we should probably lay off from trying to push the manufacturing of Klonko-soda-whizsnappers. The sails weren't doing too well anyway. I think I had better take the recipe back to the Inventing Room. Now, I think I might check on how the Oompa-Loompas are doing in here before I-" he stopped. Sarah gulped. He had obviously spotted her. The boat suddenly jerked to a stop. Wonka was practically hurled from his seat. "I thought we were fixing the brakes," Wonka snapped at the head rower. The head rower shrugged. Wonka sighed, getting out of the boat and briskly heading over to the frightened woman and the still silent worker. "Who's this?" he asked Larry, staring at Sarah, who was a little insulted that he had so easily forgotten her after the ruckus he made yesterday. Larry pulled Wonka down, whispering something in his ear. Wonka jerked straight back up again, whether it was because he was in shock or because he was just so tall that he repelled from that position like a spring, and turned towards Sarah.

"Oh! You're the Squeezledork!" he said, looking her over. "The one who attacked me yesterday!"

"I am not a Squeezledork," Sarah said, now just a tad hurt, "I'm a human being, just like you. I think. You _are_ a human, right?"

"Well, I've always thought I might have a bit of Giant Langloftian in me, but yes, I am human. Even though I do wish I was half-Oompa-Loompian at sometimes, just to see what it's like." Wonka replied.

"Hm, that would be pretty interesting," Sarah said, wondering what the world would be like if you were only 3 feet tall.

"What are you doing here?" Wonka said, getting back to his point.

"Um, I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka, I was only taking a walk and having a nice conversation with Larry here," she looked for protection in her new Oompa-Loompian friend, who gave her an encouraging smile, "and we were just admiring the vibrant scenery. Very lovely. Except the brown river, it looks kind of gross. What is it, sewage or something?"

"It most certainly is not!" cried Wonka, very insulted, "It's a chocolate river!"

"Oh!" Sarah gasped, standing on her tiptoes to see the river, "That's remarkable," she said.

"Of course it is, Miss Bucket, I came up with it," Wonka said, allowing his pride to stand out like some bright read pimple against pale, smooth skin (like his own), "The river is made of pure chocolate, which churns it and keeps it light and frothy, which gives the chocolate a extraordinary taste."

"Wow…" was all Sarah could say. She gazed at the moving river with eager anticipation of a child. "That's really… wow."

"Yeah. Wow." Wonka smiled at his lovely river. He paused, and was tossing the idea of offering some to her around in his twisted, sugary, Tim-Burton-influenced head, but Sarah started to talk instead.

"Yes, it's quite extraordinary, everything in here is. I was having a conversation with Larry over seahorses while taking a walk through here, and I must compliment you on the lovely scenery." Sarah said, "Lot's of shiny things."

"I've always liked shiny things," Wonka smiled, shoving his thumbs in his vest pockets and staring at the brilliantly gleaming candy. "And I like seahorses too,"

"Did you know that the males bear the offspring?"

"You don't say?"

"I do say. I just said it. Weren't you listening to me?"

"Yes, but it was a figure of speech."

"Oh."

"About seahorses?"

"Oh yes, I think they're marvelous," Sarah gave him an absent-mined, wild smile. She was shorter than him by a few feet (with the hat that is), he would say about five foot two, with mousy brown hair that came down in frizzy little wisps. She had shaggy bangs like Charlie's, Willy could see they were definitely related. But it was more than that- sometimes, when Charlie was with him in the Inventing Room, he would get this weird gleam in his eye that kinda freaked Willy out occasionally. That gleam was there in his aunt's eye too. It was… oh, he couldn't describe it… it was like when a Shnozzle-dozzle-bloompa-wheeler candy fresh out of the oven, with its strawberry glaze still aglow. Luminescent. Yeah. Luminescent. Her eyes were the color of chocolate when it has just been churned- that creamy, yummy brown. The only time he hadn't liked that shade chocolaty brown is when Augustus Gloop was drowning in it. At that thought, he shuddered. Sarah stopped from her seahorse sermon. "Something wrong?"

"No. No, I'm fine. I have a lot of work to do." Wonka said, getting back to his point.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I just wanted to explain why I was out of the Bucket house in case you were… mad… or anything."

Wonka paused. Well, she probably couldn't do too much harm outside of the Bucket house. She seemed to have a pretty sensible head on her shoulders. And she made more sense than Charlie's p-p-p-p-p-p… ah, forget that word. "Well, I guess you can come out here if you like. Just don't go anywhere else in the factory. And don't eat _everything_ in here. That would be rather rude."

"Goodness! I'm not _that_ hungry as to eat inedible things!" Sarah cried, now a little insulted.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Willy's eyebrows were raised. "Everything in this room is edible. Just like that tongue-turning-tasty-toffee you consumed." He nodded at her tongue. Sarah clamped her mouth shut. "Well, goodbye." He said, turning on his heel and making his way out of the vibrant room. He pushed the doors open, and exited into the halls, disappearing from sight. Sarah watched him.

"What an interesting character. Don't you think, Larry?" she looked down. Larry was busy gathering more candies, several meters away, humming a happy little tune.

* * *

Review, or I shall attack your village with my army of lovable characters that resemble Johnny Depp which I do not own! Go, Edward Scissorhands, slice away! Hehe… but seriously… please review. 


	4. Purple Cars, Gray Dreams

Author's Note: Gah, I hate school. I've been too tired to update this story for weeks. Yet I had an amazing visit from my muse shortly after going to see Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. If you liked CatCF, then you will WORSHIP Corpse Bride. It is the BOMB DIGGITY. Ah, Tim Burton… I envy thee creativity…. But good news! I actually got reviews this time! And thank you, dear reviewers, for brightening my dreary writer's life by giving me your praise. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

To **Cheorl:** Oh dear, I hope I didn't sound pushy in my review. I hate it when people do that. So rude. My apologies if I sounded pushy, and my sincere thanks for your reviewing!

To **angil:** Ew. Sandwich. Don't worry about spelling. Who needs it anyhow:) Thank you for your enthusiasm!

To **ILoveLock:** Yes. Chelsea is a Mary-Sue. How bright of you for noticing. Perhaps that was my intention, for later purposes in the story, no? And don't worry, I am capable of creating characters that aren't Mary-Sues. Look at Sarah Bucket, for Wonka's sake. She's off her rocker. (Sarah babbles to herself in background) Shut up, you. (Throws dead chicken at Sarah.)

* * *

Charlie returned home from school exhausted. First there was that amazing chemistry incident with Chelsea, then there was history where his teacher loaded him up with homework just because she was going through some menopausal crisis and needed to make herself feel empowered, then his Trigonometry teacher decided to do the same thing, only he was a man and just needed to fill the empty hole in his life by grading senseless amounts of homework. Charlie was getting the feeling that when one wishes to rule the world one day; he or she should start off by becoming either a political dictator or a high school teacher. Finally, though, the bell rang shrilly, and he was released from the prison of an educational facility. Waiting on the outside grounds for his ride, he pondered on whether or not he could dig his way out of his school using sporks like his barmy aunt did in the-

Suddenly, Charlie spotted a sleek purple car resembling some sort of convertible swerving down the road. It twisted and curved wildly, knocking into mailboxes and nearly running over some old lady, who hardly noticed (they never do.) Charlie sighed as the plum automobile screeched to a stop by the drop-off section of the parking lot. A curly silver "W" hood ornament which looked like something Tim Burton would've designed sparkled at the front. The dark, tinted window rolled down and three Oompa-Loompas wearing shades stared back at him. The one driving sat above a pile of books on violet leather interior. Two other Oompa-Loompas sat in the front, sipping what looked like a latte from Starbucks (all rights reserved). There were probably some Oompa-Loompas in the back too.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You know, I really wish Willy would just lend me the car so I can drive home by myself. It would be a lot safer for everyone. Move over," he got into the driver's seat, pushing the Oompa-Loompa on top of the books aside. "You better throw those lattes away on the way home; Willy shall kill you if he catches you with them. You know how he feels about 'traitors'." He chuckled, gripping the clutch and thrusting it forward. The Oompa-Loompas nodded, collecting the cups and dispensing of them in a built-in trashcan in the back. Charlie supposed some of the other students might think it odd that Charlie drove an extremely stylish purple car, (after all, most still thought him to be of middle-class,) but he pushed it out of his mind. It was better than the glass elevator. He remembered when he got his permit he asked his mother if he could drive to school with his dad in the morning instead of always having to walk. Willy was there, and had interrupted, "Why on earth would you want to ride with your d-d-dad in his old car when you can take the glass elevator to school, dear boy?" and then Mrs. Bucket and Charlie had to explain to Willy that one does not normally take glass elevators to school, because glass elevators are so uncommonly rare. Willy was only convinced when Charlie put out that people would most definitely suspect something fishy if he rode to school in a glass elevator. Who knows, maybe one of those awful cads that stole his recipes might still be around and steal the idea of a glass elevator too. He or she might even make it better. Better, Willy said, raising an eyebrow. Yes, Charlie said, he or she might even make it out of candy glass. Or lollipop. Or flan. At this, Willy immediately told him that he was quite right and to never ride to school in a glass elevator, and to take one of the cars instead. After that, he exited the room with an Oompa-Loompa, to oversee the building of a flan-made elevator.

Charlie slowed the car to a smooth stop, letting an elderly man hobble across the street. He was lost in thoughts of how the flan-made elevator had proven too messy, when he had a revelation. Flan-flavored things could work! There could be flan-flavored desks that you licked in Chemistry when you were bored with nothing to do. Or flan-flavored paper. Or flan-flavored lunchboxes. Or flan-flavored lollipops. Yeah. Lollipops. The old man had passed now, but Charlie didn't notice there was a runny-nosed little kid sticking his face up to the window and peeking inside. The Oompa-Loompas stared in horror back at him.

"Hey look, Mommy," the kid said, "Little people! I want a little person, I want one!" and at that, he began banging on the window. The Oompa-Loompas twitched simultaneously with each bang. "Open up, little people!"

"Billy, stop banging on that window! We might be sued for tampering with personal property. Hey wait… what are those things in there?" she stuck her head up with her son's and peered inside.

The Oompa-Loompas were now quite terrified, and had been trying to get Charlie's attention for a while now by poking him in his side. Charlie stared at the road, mumbling about lollipops. Finally, the one who had been driving whacked him upside the head, snapping him back to reality. "Wha-"

"Hey you, kid!" the obnoxious mother with the even more annoying brat banged on the window, "Open up in there!"

Charlie slammed his foot on the gas, whizzing down the road with admirable speed. The Oompa-Loompas were still twitching. "Sorry about that," he smiled apologetically. The Oompa-Loompas nodded, putting their shades back on. Charlie looked for more obnoxious pedestrians. It seemed that everyone these days were getting more and more politically correct and impolite and less moral. He was beginning to understand why Willy had locked himself up for so many years. However, locking yourself up for a decade-and-a-half did have its ups and downs. The ups: no more bothersome pedestrians. The downs: after a couple of years you find yourself saying things like, "Good morning, starshine, the world says hello," and acting like a combination of Mr. Rogers and Michael Jackson. Charlie tried to imagine himself striding around in a purple suit, giggling highly and cutting his hair in a ridiculous bob. He laughed at this. The Oompa-Loompas chuckled too; Charlie didn't know if they were just laughing because someone else was, or if they could actually tell what he was thinking and thought it funny as well. Oompa-Loompas are weird like that.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

_Gray._

_Gray rooms._

_Gray uniforms._

_Ice gray eyes._

_Gray tables, gray chairs, gray sheets._

_Gray sky._

_Gray sun._

_There is nothing but gray here. I cannot stand it any longer. I can't even hear myself think anymore among the shrieks and howls of my cell mates. God, I hate this place. I feel as if gray is the only color in the world. The lack of vibrancy is tricking my mind into thinking that there was never any such thing as color, that it had all been in my head. But I know it's out there. Somewhere. Just not here. I ask my nurse where the color is, but all she ever does is give me shots. Imbecile. I don't belong here. I belong to colors- red, orange, yellow, blue… just not gray. Gray is here. _

_Gray._

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Sarah's eye flicked open and she sprung up straight from the couch with a gasp.She breathed in and out as the wretched sounds still echoed in her head. She breathed in slowly, sucking in air, and let it out in a whistling blow. Just a dream. Not anything real. No more gray.

"Sarah?" Grandma Josephine called. "Sarah dear, are you awake?"

"Yes," Sarah called back, getting up. She went to the seniors. Grandpa Joe was reading the paper, sitting by the bed in a chair.

"We heard you gasping. Were you having a bad dream?"

"Just the side affects of a few too many of those little red candies growing outside of this house." She smiled.

"I always find that the best thing for after a bad dream is a glass of warm milk and a teaspoon of honey," Grandpa Joe smiled.

"Your mother does that too, you know," her father (whom I shall call Grandpa George so as not to confuse anyone,) said, nodding to Grandma Georgina. "Charlie was telling us earlier about how he read that certain types of madness affect only the female generation. Did you know that?"

"I like pickles cut into shapes resembling llamas," Grandma Georgina giggled. Sarah patted her mother on the hand.

"Where is Charlie, by the way?"

"He's probably working with Willy in the factory somewhere." Grandma Josephine nodded her head towards the window.

"Rather strange character, don't you think?" Sarah thought aloud.

"Who?" Grandpa Joe asked.

"What?" Grandpa George asked.

"Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer Weiner…" Grandma Georgina sang.

"Mr. Wonka."

"Oh. Yes, he's very odd, but very brilliant." Grandpa Joe smiled. "Did you know I used to work for him, in this factory?"

"Really? Do tell." Sarah smiled. (The truth is that Sarah had in fact heard this story many times; but whether she was just being polite, or, as she had a rather slippery mind, she had forgotten again- I cannot tell you.)

"Well, it all started in a little chocolate shop on the corner of 54th street…" he began.

Obviously, dear readers, you are all quite familiar with this story line, so I think I will skip ahead a half hour when Grandpa Joe finished his story. If you aren't, please see my rather lengthy summary in chapter one.

"…And that's when he invited us to live with him here, and here we all are now." Grandpa George finished.

"Fascinating." Sarah said, rubbing her eyes.

Grandma Josephine was snoring. Grandpa George had dropped off when Grandpa Joe was talking about the Persian Prince. Grandma Georgina all this time had been babbling about the outcomes and losses of the 2nd Crusade. Then, the door opened, and Charlie walked in.

"Hullo, everyone." Charlie greeted them.

"Hullo, Charlie," everyone said, almost simultaneously but not quite so everything came out rather off-beat and muddled.

"Did you have a nice day in the factory, Aunt Sarah?" Charlie smiled, opening the cabinet and grabbing a pack of Wonka's Amazing Strawberry-Flavored Peanuts, and devouring them.

"Yes. We were just hearing a lovely story on Mr. Wonka."

"For the fortieth time." Grandpa George added, awaking from his snoring.

"I've never heard it before," Sarah retorted.

"Yes you have. You just can't remember because you're daft like your mother."

"Pocahontas died in 1617 of smallpox." Grandma Georgina shook her head. "Poor thing."

Charlie gave his batty grandma a kiss on her crinkly old cheek. He tromped up the stairs to drop off his backpack, and headed down to the door.

"I thought you were supposed to do homework before business," Grandma Josephine raised an eyebrow.

"Willy needs me. There's something wrong with the taffy machine again. The taffy isn't coming out right- it tastes like cabbage." Everyone gave an involuntary twitch at the c-word as Charlie exited the house.


	5. The Definition of a Cool Aunt

Author's Note: Wow. This chapter's a tad short. Oh well! Thank you all for reviewing. You keep me from going insane… that is, insane-er. REVIEWS!

To **angil:** Darling dearest, have you taken your medicine today? You may have some of mine if you like. Or you may have some of Sarah's, she's not using it. (Sarah curls up in dark corner.) I like peanut-butter banana sandwiches. Those are scrum-diddly-umptious!

To **ILoveLock:** Poor dear. I know exactly what your going through. No fear! We are all clinically insane in this story here! Ooooh… that rhymes… 0.0

To **Moonjava:** What a lovely penname! And thank you for the compliment. I hope to see more of your reviews. Believe me, I need them. I'm just pathetic like that. :)

To **Cheorl: **Really! Did you know that purple camels spit out blue raspberry-flavored daiquiri? And I'm glad I didn't offend you on you review site. I just wanted to make sure. Politeness counts- even when you're an anonymous fanfiction author. Don't worry about Sarah. She'll get her dose of colors pretty soon. Fwhahaha! By the way, I do hope you will update Tangled Web sometime. You're leaving the rest of your faithful readers hanging! BAD! Please update right after you go buy a ticket to Corpse Bride because yes, it is that good!

WARNING: Mild seventies references at end of chapter.

* * *

"What's wrong now?" Charlie stared with his boss at the machine gone haywire.

"I don't know what's going on. It's spitting out weird clumps of blueberry-flavored something… with a hint of mocha."

"Blueberry and mocha?" Charlie took a piece of candy quizzically, and put it in his mouth.

"Yup." The machine started to make a high humming noise. He stepped a couple long paces back automatically. After so many years of being with these little babies, he was apprehensive of bad and good sounds machines make. "Better step away, that whistling sound doesn't appear to be-"

Suddenly, the humming noise became a high screech. Purple liquid spewed out of cracks in the machine. Charlie was too slow in his reaction to dive away from a squirt of purple goop. Right in his face.

"Grrrrggglllbbbub…" he chocked, falling back. One Oompa-Loompa went to seal the cracks; another went to aid the poor boy, who had briefly lost consciousness from the fall. One Oompa-Loompa whose name was Joe was preparing to perform CPR when Charlie snapped awake. Thankfully. "It's alright," he chided at the swarming midget workers. "Don't worry about me. Work on fixing the machine."

"Did it taste good?" Wonka asked promptly.

"What?" Charlie was trying to wipe himself off.

"The candy. Was it delicious?" Wonka's lavender eyes sparkled.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking. No broken bones or anything. It tasted good. Like everything else in the factory." Charlie sighed.

"Oh. Thank you." Wonka flashed a blinding white smile. "Oh, dear. That purple doesn't want to come off, does it?"

"Mum's going to kill me for ruining my clothes," Charlie sighed.

"I think she'll be a bit more worried about your skin."

"What?" Charlie's brown eyes widened. He was having flashbacks of Violet Beauregard's horrifying experience. Drat.

"Your skin, my dear boy. It's as purple as the finely-tailored suit I'm wearing now." Wonka snapped his fingers, and an Oompa-Loompa brought a mirror. Charlie stared at his reflection in terror. His skin was a blotchy purple color. Willy was right. It matched his suit perfectly. "Wha… wha… wha…." He stuttered.

"I must say, purple compliments you wonderfully. What a delightful violet!" he smiled. It was true. Purple _was_ a good color on Charlie. Wonka made a mental note to ask one of the Oompa-Loompa tailors to fix a purple suit up for his strapping young heir to the chocolate throne. In case of business-meeting emergencies and such.

"Wha… wha… wha… wha…" Charlie continued to stammer. He had apparently forgotten his excellent high-school vocabulary. What would he do at school? Skip for a few days? How long would this face condition last? What if there were other awful side-affects? What if he turned into a Wangdoodle? What would Chelsea say tomorrow at school? He gasped. What _would_ Chelsea say tomorrow at school?

The elder chocolatier was concerned now. "Now Charlie, my boy, I don't much about hyperventilating, but I think you should slow down your breathing…"

Charlie didn't hear him. The Oompa-Loompas' visage seemed to warp, and double. Wait… did they double? Charlie could never tell- they were all so identically confusing. Willy's voice seemed far off. Charlie's knees buckled, as his eyes began to swim in a see of dreadful, dark, blueberry-mocha purple. Then… black.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

"Charlie. Chaaaaarlie." A soft voice called. Charlie stirred. "Don't get up," the voice was soothing. Charlie didn't open his eyes.

"Am I dead?" he mumbled.

"No. You're fine. Except for your interesting color. It compliments your hair."

"Thanks. I've been told that recently. Are you my conscience?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No, you silly ninny-wit! Open your eyes."

Charlie opened them to stare into deep brown eyes and black pupils such as his own. "Oh. Hey Aunt Sarah."

"You thought I was your conscience?"

"No. Well, sort of. It's a long story."

"Does it involve your employer?"

"Yes, actually. How did you know?"

"I just guessed. Crazy people have a lot in common." She sat back and smiled. Charlie sat up.

"Where is everyone?"

"I'm sorry to say that they've all decided to book a flight to Tahiti without you. I volunteered to stay here to keep you from going mad."

"You're pulling my leg again, Auntie."

"Don't _auntie_ me. I'm being serious. My hair gets extraordinarily frizzy in humid climates such as Tahiti's. You think it's bad now, just see it in the tropics. It blows up like an afro. I look like something from the Commodores in the 70s. Lionel Ritchie, I think."

"You're a bad liar, Aunt Sarah," Charlie gave his aunt a hug.

"I know I am. Your mother's fetching a doctor, your father is still working, your grandparents are sleeping… again… and your boss is outside having a nervous breakdown."

"That's normal." Charlie didn't suppose Sarah knew about Willy's psychotic tendencies.

"I don't think so. I know about nervous breakdowns. I think he's having one." Sarah peeked outside of a curtain. Charlie caught a glimpse of a purple figure curled up in the fetal position, Oompa-Loompas standing calmly around him, one Oompa-Loompa that Charlie supposed was one of the secretaries was stroking his shoulder. Willy seemed to stop twitching for a moment. Charlie shrugged. Maybe his aunt did know something about psychotic tendencies after all.

"I'll go out and see him." Charlie sighed, getting up.

"Oh drat," his aunt said. "I've got that stupid Commodores song stuck in my head again."

"Which one?"

"Brick house," And with that, she began to do the Hustle, a popular dance in the 70s, to the song in her head.

Charlie grinned. There are a lucky number of children who are blessed with relatives known as 'cool aunts.' These savvy sisters of the kid's mother or father are the height of fashion, wit, knowledge, anything like that. You go to a cool aunt to shop for a dress to a party. Your cool aunt is the one who does most of the planning for your sweet sixteen. You know, cool aunts- the most awesome mentors in history. Sarah Bucket, in the opinion of many others, was not in any way counted as "cool," but rather, "clinically insane." But she was good enough for Charlie. And that's what made her feel… well, _not_ what everyone said she was.

With that sappy character analyzation over with, the aunt and nephew did the Hustle out of the room to the inaudible tune of Lionel Ritchie's popular song.


	6. Cure for a Purple Face

Author's Note: FALL BREAK! I am soooo excited! A week to myself, giving me time to update this lunatic tale! Yay! I'm over exaggerating exclamation marks! WOOT! Reviews!

To **angil:** I adore flying monkeys! Fly, fly my pretties! (cackles)

To **NerdyforWonkaNerds:** Thank you very very very very much. Very. :)

To **PucktoFaerie: **I'm glad you reviewed! I look forward to updates from your stories as well! Hope ya like this chapter!

To **ILoveLock:** (skims over glowing crystal ball) All questions will be answered in this chapter… no wait, I take that back. Your beloved Chelsea-Mary-Sue-Joe-Bob-Larry will not make an appearance in the chapter. Stupid cheap crystal ball! (hits crystal ball, only to find that it is attached to an electrical cord, and electrocutes self.)

* * *

Charlie was indeed having a bad day at school. He had dozed off again in English, when his teacher was droning out the history of the semicolon. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, as he was up half of the night with Willy trying to figure out what on earth could possibly take purple color out of one's skin. He had scrubbed his face with every sort of acne medication he could think of, and after his mother had gone to the pharmacy to go get some more and his father was arguing with the puzzled Oompa-Loompa doctors (who were trying to argue back at him, but as he didn't know the language the argument was rather one-sided,) when his auntie sauntered in.

"Still have that lovely lilac color, do you dear?" she smiled.

"Yes," Charlie grunted, looking for a good pillar to bang his noggin against, but remembered his manners and added, "ma'am."

"I believe it's turned into a very lovely shade of violet red," Sarah took a long, slender finger and ran in down her nephew's cheek.

"That's from the acne medication," Charlie groaned. He was now matching his employer's evening wear, satin with golden Ws all over it.

Willy yawned. "We could try some Wollapaloozle juice. That stuff is mighty tart. It's so acidy it nearly took my taste buds off one time. I stayed puckered for weeks."

"That will obviously take his face off," Sarah scoffed.

"Yes, but at least the purple will be gone," Willy retorted. He was giving her one of those looks like when those four brats and their deadbeat p-p-p-p…caretakers two years ago waltzed into _his_ factory with all their silly facts about how Loompaland really isn't a place and how Willy was once extremely short when he was a kid.

"I… I dunno," Charlie said uncertainly, "We could try it,"

"And then you'll go to school looking like King Tut out of his sarcophagus," Sarah said, "Trust me on this- I know chemistry. And _that_ won't work. No Charlie, all you need is half a cup of lemon juice, half a cup of water, a teaspoon of salt, and a loofa. Once, one of my colleagues had a rather nasty accident with some of that tanning cream gunk. Took it right out."

"Colleagues?" Willy snorted, "Were they also locked up in whatever correctional institution you broke out of?"

Sarah turned around slowly, her left eye twitching a bit. Her round little nose wrinkled up at the bridge, causing the dusting of freckles on her nose to ripple. "That was a little below the belt, Mr. Wonka," she said darkly. Willy stepped back in alarm. She was getting a little frightening. And he knew when to step back from frightening things. Like germs. And wangdoodles. And Care Bears.

"Especially for a man who locked himself up from human contact for 27 years." She added, looking him up and down.

"What are suggesting?" Willy's voice lost its usual pitch, swooping quite low.

Charlie stepped back. He knew from Willy's knowledge to step back from frightening things. Like spiders. And poisonous dart-throwing knozzlebobs. And Care Bears.

"Really, Mr. Wonka," Sarah's upper lip curled, rather unattractively. "Can you honestly call me a madwoman before looking at yourself in the mirror?"

"I am most certainly not… not wonky, if that's what your saying!" Willy objected, putting his hands a little too high on his hips. Dangerous territory for a man.

"Oh please," Sarah made a move to imitate him, tossing an imaginary bob hair-do, and talking in a voice that sounded like a combination of Michael Jackson and the dearly departed Mr. Rogers from 'Mr. Rogers Neighborhood.' "Oh my good golly gumdrops gosh! Germs! Germs!" With that, she started waving her arms eccentrically, running in mad little circles.

Willy stood back in insulted rage. His pale fist tightened on his cane. He had the sudden urge to whack her on the head with the candy-filled accessory, but kept his composure. "At least _my_ hair maintains a sort of shape to it. _Your_ hair is frizzy, broken, and graying."

Sarah's hands flew to her head. "I'm not graying! Those are _blonde_ hairs! Blonde!" but her hands still remained nervously nested in her frizzy bun.

Charlie would've supported his little aunt with a big frizz problem by reminding Willy of the famed silver hair which he found 2 years ago, giving him the glorious idea of finding an heir to the factory. But he didn't wish to get caught in a crossfire. He was purple already.

"Come on, Charlie my boy," Willy smugly said, turning on his heel, "Let's go get some of that Wallapaloozle juice to clear your skin up."

"Well… you… I…n-not before I clear it up first!" Sarah cried, twisting a piece of hair.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Unfortunately, the Oompa-Loompas reported that the Wallapoozle juice had been discontinued due to the extreme side-affects that came out when one consumed candy with the liquid ingredient in it.

"What? You- you mean… there's none left?" Willy demanded. The lead Oompa-Loompa in charge of the Inventing Room shrugged, moving his arms about in a waving action and then doing something that looked like the Hand Jive.

"Well then, get the guy in charge of the Ingredient Room to go look, then!" Willy cried, his voice breaking.

"Y-you know… um… Willy, I-I don't have to-"

Willy wheeled around, shooting him a twitching, purple-eyed look of death. Charlie backed away, and when Willy turned around again, made a mad dash for the pink elevator. Jamming his fingers onto various buttons, the door quickly shut, and whizzed off into the factory.

Charlie slid down the wall of the elevator, his chest heaving. This was going _way_ too far. Willy wanted to sizzle his face off, Sarah wanted sizzle Willy's face off, and Charlie wanted to sizzle away in general to get away from the bickering and chaos. He sat like that, glaring at his violet complexion reflection on the other wall. Life was getting a tad too zany.

_Well,_ an annoying little voice in the way back of his head said, _what did you expect? You should've thought of that before agreeing to become Willy Wonka's heir. That was a binding contract that certifies you will follow in his footsteps and take care of the factory. And in order to preserve the factory's famous ways, you must act just like the man who makes it famous._

"Yeah, but not exactly like him," Charlie said. He could've sworn he heard someone snicker. But there was no one in the elevator except him. He sighed. Too many things happening in one day. The elevator zoomed off, to where- Charlie didn't exactly know yet.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Charlie was busy with his homework (Trigonometry, page 65, numbers 1-49,) when Sarah burst through the door.

"Ha_-ha_!" She cried triumphantly, holding up a beaker with some frothy yellow stuff in it, "Lookie here!"

Charlie looked up. "Is that…?"

"It is indeed, my dearest nephew." Sarah grinned crazily. "This will take that purple out in a jiffy!"

"Aunt Sarah, it's really alright-"

"HA!" squealed Willy's voice from an open window, "Consorting with the enemy, are you, Charlie!"

"Oh no," Charlie groaned, slamming his head on his textbook.

Willy kicked one tall leg through the window, then bent himself forward in a 60-degree angle, scrabbling through with the other one; but getting his foot caught, and so pummeling to the ground, sprawled out all over the floor with another beaker in his hands. None of the fluid spilled.

"You could've come through the door." Sarah said, looking down at him.

"I know," said Willy, standing up and dusting himself off, "but I wanted to make a dramatic entrance. As I was saying," he held up his beaker full of green bubbling stuff, "I have found the Wallapaloozle juice!"

"Not fair!" Sarah said indignantly, "I saw him first!"

"This is _my_ factory, you forget," Willy said, shoving the beaker in Charlie's direction, "where anything I say goes. Rub this on your face, Charlie my boy."

"No! Mine works best!" Sarah shoved the beaker in Charlie's direction as well.

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

They both shoved their beakers far enough into Charlie's face, that they knocked both of their tubes together, causing both liquids to slosh out of their containers onto Charlie's face. Charlie yelped, and tried to duck, but it was too late. For the second time that day, Charlie was on the ground, his face drenched in Wallapaloozle-lemon-water-salt concoction.

"Oh my God!" Sarah screeched, lunging down at her nephew, "Charlie, darling, are you all right!"

Willy put two gloved fingers in his mouth, emitting a shrill whistle. An Oompa-Loompa immediately appeared at the open window Willy had clambered through. "Get the Oompa-Loompa doctors immediately. Fetch Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, and sound off the emergency alarm."

The Oompa-Loompa quickly made a frantic gesture. Willy paused. "No, I don't suppose it's as bad as the factory being taken over by an army of crawdads, so sound off the mild-not-quite-an-emergency-but-still-pretty-darn-important alarm."

"I don't think there's a need," said Sarah, aghast, "Charlie, your purple's gone!"

"Really?" Charlie said, jumping up and dashing to the bathroom. Sure enough, the cursed purple color had disappeared from Charlie's face. "YESSS!" Charlie cried, overjoyed, thrusting his fist into the air, and doing a merry jig. Sarah grinned, and Mr. and Mrs. Bucket burst through the door.

"Wow," Willy said, "That was fast. Props, Herbert, props."

The Oompa-Loompa named Herbert who had fetched the parents gave himself a pat on the back, which he found difficult, as his tiny midget arms were rather hard to reach with.

"Charlie!" Mrs. Bucket cried, "Thank goodness you're alright! And the purple's gone!"

"I guess the combination of Willy's Wallapaloozle juice and Sarah's tanning-cream-remover got it out. How strange," Charlie said, pondering the chemical properties of both. He stopped soon enough, because honestly: who ponders on chemical properties of liquid candy and tanning-cream-removers?

"Well, I think we've learned a valuable lesson here today," Mr. Bucket said wisely, with an air of paternal manliness, "That you could've easily solved your problems by learning to work together instead of bickering about your differences."

"Oh, stop acting like something out of the Brady Bunch, John," Sarah snapped, "That Wallapa-whatever didn't do squat. It was obviously all the lemon-salt-water that got the purple out."

"It was not!" Willy argued.

"It was so!"

"Was not!"

"Was so!"

"Was not!"


	7. Tutoring Chelsea

Author's Note: Wow… I've been away for a bit of time… (Looks blankly around, blinking.)

To **NerdyforWonkaNerds:** Laughter heals the soul! Unless you are demonically possessed, in which your laughter is more demonic cackling than spiritual giddiness. Have you ever noticed that antagonists in movies cackled evilly at things that aren't funny? For example: "I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too! Mwahahahahaha!"

To **PucktoFaerie:** I would like to see Willy and Sarah have like, a mud fight of wrestling tournament or something. (pauses) Nah, never mind. I take it back.

To **ILoveLock:** I have a REASON for making Chelsea the way she is, dear! Hold your darned horses! But thank you for the compliment. How _does_ your cat taste, exactly?

* * *

"Mr. Bucket!" a shrill voice snapped, "Pay attention, or I shall kick you out of this classroom, so help me!" 

Charlie stirred, when something hit his knuckles, causing them to sting like fire. He jumped at this sensation, his eyes snapping open. A ruler. He had rapped on the knuckles by a ruler. His English teacher was standing before him, tapping her foot. He must've fallen asleep in class; dreaming about what happened last night.

"Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his knuckles. His teacher turned back to the board, droning on about how to use and abuse the exalted semicolon. Charlie sighed. He must be careful to not do that again. If his grades dropped any lower, it'd be the end of business with Willy on school days for him. And that wouldn't be good. Not at all. But at east his color was back to normal. Another few minutes and the bell rang. Just like that, the quiet classroom became a pen full of angry buffalo-herd-high-schoolers, pushing all to get out through a tiny little door to their next class; footsteps like thunder.

"Charlie?" A soft voice beside him said. Charlie turned to see Chelsea staring at him. He kept back a soft noise in his throat. "Oh… ah… yes?" he gurgled.

"Are we still on for this afternoon?"

"Th-this afternoon?"

"Tutoring."

"Oh yes. Yes. We are. On for tutoring, that is. Yes." He managed a jerky nod. She smiled.

"Okay, then. I'll see you later."

"Bye," Charlie said, as she turned to leave.

The next three classes whizzed by, it seemed, in seconds. Soon it was almost a few minutes for the bell.

_Ugh, I'm nervous. Why am I this nervous? I shouldn't be this nervous. It is, after all, tutoring. Nothing more, nothing less. Just plain, friendly teaching another peer._

_Another peer that's a girl,_ that annoying little voice said.

_Yeah. So?_

_So, you've never really felt this way about a girl before._

_It's only normal to have feelings for another girl at my age. At any age. I am, after all, an average teenage boy._

_No. You're not. You're a teenage heir to a factory that has to be kept secret._

_So what?_

_Girls are all about being honest with everyone. You know that. Not many girls like boys that keep secrets from them._

_And?_

_And you're whole identity if a sort of secret, buddy. You can't tell ANYONE about where you live, what you do after school, or anything like that. ESPECIALLY your girlfriend. She might blab to all her friends about you, or worse… steal a recipe._

_Chelsea wouldn't do that._

_Oh no? Watch. And Willy won't like it one bit. You know how he feels about people._

_But I'm not Willy Wonka. I'm Charlie Bucket._

_Not anymore. That may be your cover-up, your alias- but the truth is that inside you've slowly turned into pure, 100-percent Wonka._

The bell rang. Charlie dismissed that blasted little voice, drowning it out by concentrating on the roaring voices of his fellow students. He stopped by his locker, picked up his books, and when closing it, turned and ran into his new pupil.

"Oh… sorry…" he bent down to help pick up Chelsea's books.

"Don't worry about it," Chelsea said quietly. They walked outside of the building to the parking lot.

"I should've told you, my house is locked today. My parents knew I was going somewhere, and they both have to work, so we can't go over to my house to study."

Charlie was half-listening. His eyes were on the speeding purple car coming up to the pick-up section of the parking lot. A window rolled down. Charlie slowly shook his head, turning.

"Well, that's okay; we can go study in the library. The library's a lovely place to study. In fact, that's really what it's there for." He said hurriedly, grabbing Chelsea's shoulders and jerking her around, away from the car.

"Can't we drive there-"

"Why drive when you can walk? It's only a couple of blocks. Besides, walking is wonderful exercise." And with that, he started walking briskly away, in hopes that Chelsea would follow him instead of stare at the violet car with the tiny drivers inside.

_What did I tell you?_

"Shut up," Charlie growled.

"What?" Chelsea asked. She was beside him now.

"Oh… erm… what's up?"

"Oh. Nothing, really. Just trying to get by with grades. What's up with you?"

"Um… same."

"You fell asleep in class today."

"Oh… yeah." Charlie hadn't forgotten. His knuckles were still red. Thankfully not purple.

"So… are you getting enough sleep?"

"Yeah. It's just… boring, you know?" Charlie said. This was half-true, at least.

"Totally. I mean, who _honestly_ needs to know the history of the semicolon? It certainly doesn't help you in life's lessons."

"Well, it could be a question in Jeopardy, or something."

"Oh yes, of course. 'I'll take useless information about mechanical English tools for 200, please.'"

Charlie laughed. That seemed like something his aunt would pick. "What is: Aldus Manutius?"

Chelsea grinned. "Something like that."

They arrived at the library, chose a table, sat down, and pulled out their books.

"So… chemistry," Charlie said quietly, because well, they were in a library after all.

"Yes. Chemistry," Chelsea echoed, even quieter. She was staring at something behind him, but snapped out of her trance a moment later.

"What did you want to know?"

"Well, what I couldn't get was…"

I apologize for the brief interruption, dearest darlingest readers, but I've concluded that this part of the story is completely irrelevant to the rest of the plot. Partially because I don't wish to put you (actually, mainly me) asleep, I will skip past the rather tedious tutorial. But I will let you know that Charlie was an excellent tutor, and Chelsea understood it perfectly. Let's go ahead two hours….

"Well, that's about it. Do you think you've got it?" Charlie said, sitting back. Chelsea closed her book.

"Perfectly. Thank you so much, Charlie. I really appreciate this." She closed her book, and put it in her book satchel. Charlie noticed a pin on the flap of the bag.

"Lionel Ritchie?" he smiled, quizzically.

Chelsea glanced down. "Oh. Erm, yes. I have a secret passion for the Commodores. Dorky, I know." She said embarrassedly.

"I love the Commodores!" Charlie grinned. "Everyone in my family does." He thought of his aunt in an afro, and chuckled.

"What's your favorite song?" Chelsea leaned in.

"Brick house. Definitely."

"No way. Nightshift is the best."

"You're crazy!" Charlie joked.

"You're…" Chelsea stopped, staring again past Charlie. Charlie turned around.

"What are you staring at-" he started. Chelsea pushed her books unto her bag, and stood up.

"I- I have to go. See you tomorrow." She said, and started walking quickly towards the door. Charlie got up.

"Oh. Well, do want me to walk you home or something?"

"No. Just... I don't know. I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie."

"But-"

Chelsea hurried out the door and out of sight. Charlie sighed. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

He packed up and walked outside, and began walking across the street towards the sprawling grey pillows of smoke of the factory. Suddenly, a purple car- the purple car- came zooming out of nowhere towards him. Charlie stopped in the middle of the road, staring in horror. It screeched to a halt, several centimeters from his knees. An Oompa-Loompa rolled down the window and looked at him.

"How did you find me?" Charlie asked, getting into the driver's seat. The Oompa-Loompa pointed at a screen- newly installed, which had a blinking radar on it. The blinking point was in the shape of a red C. A purple W was in the corner where the factory should be, darting around.

"Wow. Clever." Charlie said, pushing on the gas pedal.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

"Did you have nice time on your date, darling?" Mrs. Bucket looked up from the soup. (Which was not cabbage, rather, potato.)

"It wasn't a date, Mom." Charlie grunted, coming in to the house. "It was a tutoring lesson."

"Whatever, darling."

"Back in my day," Grandma Josephine said pointedly, "We called it a date. I don't have the faintest idea what you young people are calling it."

"What could you possibly teach a young lady on a date, Charlie?" Grandpa Joe said. "I hope it's nothing indecent. Your parents didn't raise you to be a scallywag."

"Well, you certainly didn't make a very good example," Grandma Josephine teased.

Charlie blushed. An old person flirting wasn't exactly the most appetizing spectacle.

"Charlie isn't capable of romancing a young lady from her skirts," Grandpa George huffed, "He'd be too much of a prude to wonder what's underneath."

"I am not a prude!" Charlie protested, pride hurt. High school boys don't normally like to have their rugged man-skills jeered at by old men who hardly cannot eat without their dentures falling out.

"Did someone say prunes?" Grandma Georgina brightened.

"Don't be eating prunes, mother," Aunt Sarah walked in to the kitchen, going to help her sister-in-law with dinner, "They make you gassy. Did you have a nice date, Charlie?"

"_It wasn't a date!_" Charlie practically shouted.

"Tutoring, whatever. You didn't try anything too scandalous on you lady-friend, did you, dear? You're a Bucket, and Buckets must learn to control their amazingly good looks and dazzling charisma; use their powers for good, instead of evil." She flipped her hair, which didn't do much good because it was a bun, and instead knocked Mrs. Bucket in the head with her head. Both of them clutched their heads, groaning "Owwwwwww…"

"Yes, that's very attractive, indeed," Grandpa George snorted, "I can't believe I'm not blind from your graceful light."

"You're almost blind," Grandpa Joe reminded him.

"I never liked pork rinds," Grandma Georgina wrinkled her nose in the same fashion as her daughter, "I prefer pickled corn. Are we having pickled corn tonight?"

There was a knock at the door, and Willy came in with a box of something. "Good evening, Bucket family," he smiled, flashing his pearly whites.

"Now _those_ things could blind someone," Grandpa George said, shielding his eyes.

"Good evening, Willy," Mrs. Bucket said, rubbing her head, "We're just about to have supper. Would you like to sit down?"

"I brought minced apples with a caramel shell," Willy held up his package. "Newly released this afternoon. I couldn't find you to let you know, Charlie. Where were you?"

"Oh, didn't you know, Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked, "Charlie went on a date."

"IT WASN'T A DATE!"

"Even the Oompa-Loompas knew about it before him," Grandpa George said lowly. Grandma Josephine hushed him.

"Blech. I could never understand why innocent young men would put themselves in situations like d-d-dating in my school days. Considering the circumstances,"

"What circumstances?" Charlie said, in spite of himself.

"Well, you know, considering that girls have…" he paused, staring down at his plate.

"Have what?" Mr. Bucket asked.

"Have… you know…" he leaned in, and whispered, "Cooties."

There was a long pause. Everyone in the room stared at the chocolatier, before the room erupted into hysterical laughter. Even Sarah, who had been sending deadly glares at Willy from across the table, started to snicker and snort.

Willy was bewildered. "What?"

"You honestly mean that you think…?" Charlie said between fits of laughter.

"Think _what_?" Willy's eyes were as wide as teacups.

"Willy, old chap, we might need to have a talk," Mr. Bucket gasped for air, his face red with laughing.

"About _what!_"


	8. Flashback

Ahoy, readers! Wow… I've been lacking slightly in updates… but it's not as bad as some of the OTHER stories where authors haven't bothered to update in FOREVER (cough cough I'm talking about a certain reviewer who never updates anymore on a certain lovable fir on Aragorn and a lovely OC cough cough) but whatever. I am happy to be back! Okey-dokey, reviews!

To **ILoveLock: **STOP IT! You'll givethe twistaway! (But I'll give you a hint… it's NOT the last one.)

To **PucktoFaerie:** Yeah. Actually, it's more like five grown-ups and two mad-people with odd hairdos. But still, seven against one isn't too good for Charlie. Poor dear.

To **NerdyforWonkaNerds: **I got the cooties idea from back in 5th grade when I had a hopeless crush on one boy, and his mother informed mine that he still thought girls had cooties. So anyway, I was thinking about that while destroying some random city with my craziness, (the usual), when I was like "DUDE! That TOTALLY works!" Isn't life funny like that?

To **Cheorl (x3):** I find it very annoying that I have to refer to you in my beginning part of my A/N. UPDATE YOUR STORY CUZ I'M DYING HERE! And thank you fro the loverly reviews. (P.S. Security guards are oversized H20 molecules here. Hydrogen-Oxygen Power! HOP!)

* * *

_Morning. I love this time of morning, when the snow hasn't exactly poked its gleaming head above the muddy gray marshes, and the sky is a smoky, silver blue. I gazed over the dismal hills and puddles of mud, which had turned an interesting shade of slate from the sky. This was the time of morning where you had time to yourself; reflection. Not a sound could be heard except the gentle cooing of whooper-wills in the distance. I chose this time to think about my life so far: my youth, my studies, my budding career in biochemistry, the trial, and… here. A balmy morning breeze was blowing through today, but I couldn't feel it. Not with this annoying will sitting before me. I had requested a room with a window, soundproof- something that would block out all the moans and shrieks form the moans and shrieks from the inside and let in the soft calls of the outside. I said it would help ease my mind and calm my senses. The authorities reluctantly agreed, not seeing how it could do much harm. They sent me to the "Special Room", although I never understood how exactly they could have afforded all the "special" technology and work that goes into making a room like this. For highly trained specialists in psychology and medical knowledge, the nurses and doctors of St. Luna Tik's Facility for the Mentally Questionable did not think things through very well. I could feel the faint clicking rhythm of uniform nurse shoes coming closer. I sighed. Speak of the devil. An unlocking sound tramples though the peaceful quietness, like a thick-skulled rhinoceros bounding dumbly through a field of dainty, thuriferous little flowers. Behind the rhinocerosness flooded in all the haggard, dithyrambic echoes of the kleptomaniacs and crack jobs that shared the prison I am bound to. In clicked my nurse, Ms. Olgenson, with a hypodermic needle._

"_Good morning, Helga," I greeted her, still staring out the window. "I trust you had a good evening."_

_Olgenson didn't say anything. She never said much in t he first place, being from Ugoshlovekistanland she didn't speak much English anyway; and the authorities had told her that all the residents here that were not nurses, doctors, or authorities were raving psycho maniacs- and she didn't take any chances by talking to one. I'd been trying to dissuade her of my alleged "insanity," but she showed little sign of progress. _

"_What's on the schedule for me today?" I asked while she strapped my jacket up. The authorities thought it best that I was kept in a temporary jacket, nothing to tight or hard to get out of, of course; just in case. They had never seen a case of insanity like mine, where they patient talks and acts as a sane person; and ignored my failed attempts to explain that I was, in fact, sane._

"_Medicine first, obviously. Then are we to go for a nice walk in the fake botanical garden, or head down to mess hall to try to get my to intake of that rank stuff they like to call food?"_

_Olgenson did not answer._

"_Don't play that 'I'm foreign, I have no idea what you're saying' game with me, Helga. I'm talking to you. Yes, I see that nervous look in your eye. No, no- don't turn away from me. One of these days you'll crack, I know it, yo thick-headed loaf of a nurse. They wouldn't have hired you if they didn't think you were completely blatant. You listen to me, you Ugoshlovekistanlandian, you. I know you hear me, and I know you're afraid of me. You think I might do something maniacal and try to strangle you or something. No, dear Helga, only insane people do that. I am perfectly sane. And, being a sane person, I will get out. And in the mean time, dear old Ms. Olgenson, I suggest you stop being so rude to me and answer me when I try to speak to you. Otherwise, who knows? Maybe when I do get out, I'll decide to indeed show off my crazy side and attempt to strangle you. Or something, like that." I gave her my craziest, scariest smile I could muster. _

_The effect was quite satisfying. Olgenson had sheer terror written all over her calloused old face and she made a move to inject me with my medicine. Practically drove the thing through my skinny arm. Her obvious fear mixed with offended rage had compelled her to try to stab me. There. I knew she could understand me, she was offended. The infection hurt like St. Elmo's fire, and I stared at her darkly with cold, unblinking eyes. She withdrew the needle from my pale flesh, crying some Ugoshlovekistanlandian curse at me,(alright, maybe she didn't understand English as well as I'd hoped) and clicking out of the room in tears, slamming the door behind her._

_I sat back against the cold wall, jamming my fingers through my thin, tangled hair. Limp and frizzy, there were always a few disobedient strands hanging down in front of my face, no matter what I did with it. My arm was throbbing in a pounding rhythm, and it soon spread across my whole body, numbly beating against my mind. I slid down to the cool floor, my hand against my forehead. The stuff they were giving me made me change- I would become more absent-minded, and babble senselessly for hours. It was like I couldn't find my head. And sometimes I would develop a terrible temper and lose it often. I've had experience in dealing with this field- the courses I took in college let us study this type of medicine. If what's in my system is what I think it is, then soon it will alter me completely, so that my mind will be permanently abstract and loose, and I really will be mad. I sighed. Hopefully that time won't come soon; I could already feel the medicine taking effect. Well, at least it's quiet again. The cries of St. Luna Tik's were suffocated when Ms. Olgenson slammed the door; the rhinoceros shot down by silent poachers. Poor Ms. Olgenson. I had not meant to hurt her that much. Only to keep her on her toes. It was that blasted medicine. I have to watch my temper. She's going to be resentful and suspicious for weeks, and the authorities will be hanging over me like some dead goose. But not now. Now it was quiet. The whooper-wills were back, and I could hear the zephyr breeze gently coaxing me from he other side of the window. Someday, the window will be gone and I will be free and Ms. Olgenson will be rid of her greatest annoyance. Someday. I closed my eyes and settled against the wall, drifting into happy dreams of plans of escape._

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Sarah woke with a start. She had been dreaming. Again. Just dreaming. It's not real anymore. It's gone. She was fine now. She was safe. Everything was going to be all right.

Sarah sighed, and held her head in her hands for a moment, just breathing.

"Golly, I'm a wreck," she quietly said to herself, before getting up and going outside: one to take a walk and get some fresh air, two to see if Larry could help her with a chocolate fix she was in at the moment. He was very kind like that.

Sarah was strolling outside, enjoying the scent of candy in the air. (Actually she was really just trying to locate Larry, but she couldn't automatically tell one Oompa-Loompa from the other as they were all identical, so she just wandered randomly amongst them, looking at their nametags.) She was so busy looking at Oompa-Loompas and then feigning casually walking away, she did not see Mr. Willy Wonka come round the corner, turning at the knozzle-berry tree. They were both so consumed in themselves, they collided with each other, their noggins smacking painfully together.

"Yowch!" Sarah yelped, keeling backwards and falling on her rump like some comical puppet toy without any strings from a popular Italian folktale or Disney movie.

Willy was making a desperate attempt with one hand to straighten his brown girly do, and with the other hand went down to help her. "Oh darn. Norman," he called, "Hurry down to the Hair Cream Room immediately, and fetch a comb as well."

"Oh, thank you for helping me up-" Sarah started, taking his hand, and when firmly on her feet finished, "Oh. It's you." Begrudgingly.

"Don't sound so begrudging," Willy said, trying to slick down his hair and straighten his hat, "_You're_ the one who collided with my noggin and made it smack painfully."

"I certainly was not!" Sarah put her hands on her waist. "If anything, _your_ noggin wanted to collide with _mine_ and make a painful smacking sound because it is dastardly and pale and…" she stopped for a moment, rubbing her smarting head. "Oh drat. I've lost my train of thought. What was I saying again?"

"You were insulting my noggin."

"Oh yes. Thank you. Wait, I take that back. I don't have to thank you, because you've got a dastardly noggin!"

"Stop insulting my noggin!"  
"Only if you teach it some manners and tell it that it is not polite to be dastardly and collide with another person's noggin and make a painful smacking sound!" Sarah cried.

"Fine! But only if you buy some anti-frizzing cream and dye your gray strands because they are VERY distracting to my work!"

"THEY'RE BLONDE!"

"GREY!"

"BLONDE!"

"Oh, I don't have to deal with this kind of interrogation," Willy said, tipping his hat very low so that it shadowed his eyes and made his noggin look very dastardly indeed, "Good day, Miss Bucket."

"Good day, Mr. Wonka-and-his-menacingly-dastardly-noggin!" Sarah shouted, turning on her heel and stomping away in the opposite direction in a very girly-tantrum way.

Larry looked out from behind the knozzle-berry tree. He breathed a sigh of relief, and got back to work.


	9. Of Love and Librarians

**Disclaimer:** I own Willy Wonka. I own Johnny Depp. I own Tim Burton. I even own Roald Dahl, even though I believe he is dead. WHATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT? Mwahahahaha…ha…ha. Yeah okay I'm lying. I own nothing but Sarah Bucket, the poor demented thing. Alas.

**Author's Note: **Dang. It's been a reeeeeeeaaaaaalllllllyyyyy long time, hasn't it? Oh, well. I'm not perfect, quite the opposite. I'm a WRITER! Plus I am also a PROCRASTINATOR, and I am especially LAZY! And, I ALSO LIKE TO ABUSE THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON AS YOU CAN SEE! REVIEWS!

**TO CHEO… ahem… To Cheorl: **I think everyone chooses blonde over grey. Unless you are Cary Grant. Or Steve Martin.

**To NitrusOxide:** Well THANKS A LOT! I haven't even read the sixth book yet! That's okay, though. My friends are spoilers also.

**To SilverBlaze55:** I hope to see your fic, it sounds awesome! Just let me know when you post it and I'll take a lot. Thank yo for putting my story on your alert list, by the way.

**To NerdyforWonkaNerds:** You know what's awesome about the word 'noggin'? It sounds like eggnog! I LOVE EGGNOG! YAY FOR EGGNOG! And noggins…

* * *

Ms. Helkinson, the librarian at the local library, was having a taxing day. More taxing than usual, that is. First, some kid came in saying he had some sort of research project to do, and then tried to rip pages out of the textbooks and stuff them in his pocket for later. Later on, a middle-school girl came in with a load of books that were already overdue a week ago, protesting that her calendar told her the due date was today. When she took out her calendar to show Ms. Helkinson, Ms. Helkinson noticed the calendar was dated back to 1983, clearly out of date. A woman with three rowdy spoiled children sauntered in to go check out something on one of the computers, letting them run freely about the premises. The children had to be quieted several times, and when playing a game of what looked like some weird lovechild of tackle football and hide-and-seek, consequently knocking down one of the weaker shelves and causing the Dewey-Decimal-ordered books to topple down in one big messy pile. The worst part was that the mother merely shrugged it off and let her children go run around some more, leaving Ms. Helkinson to put everything back. Now the worst had come. Two lovesick teenagers had come in at around 3:30, and had been there for two hours. Ms. Helkinson had seen them for the past five days come in and flirt endlessly, disturbing what few people were inhabiting the library. The truth was that not many people visited the new library, expensively built to look like an open book (the money had been raised by the local librarians, people who really cared about books, people who really cared about librarians, people who really cared about librarian's cats, frightened small children who had recently been threatened by librarian's cats to raise money, and people who have a strange need to raise lots of money to build shiny things that don't get used very much in the end); but Ms. Helkinson would never be the one to admit it. She loved the big new library. She loved every single one of the books residing in it. She had loved libraries and books since she was very small. That was why she went through thirty-nine years of not getting out much into the world to develop a human capacity to be somewhat social, and why she had too many cats for her own good, and why she had never had any sort of romantic relationship with any man ever, excepting Gerald Brian, the skinny perverted boy who worked volunteering in the library one summer back in 1971. But that didn't matter, she had the library. It was _her_ library. It belonged to her and her to it. Sometimes she forgot about going home to her cats and her apartment, and just slept on a pile of dusty books in the Paleontology section, caressing the books and singing them lullabies primarily influenced by the writings of Edgar Allen Poe. Ms. Helkinson had begin to forget all about her hectic day, now focused on how she was beginning to scare herself at the thought of how extremely sad her life was, but remembered promptly.

Anyway, those two teenagers had been visiting _her_ library for five days straight now. The first time she saw them, which was several weeks ago, they had stuttered through studies, apparently tutoring, blushing at gazing at each other with nervous affection. Ms. Helkinson had been observing them from afar without realizing it. Over the course of a few weeks, they had been getting used to each other, studying little, and chattering and laughing much. It aggravated Ms. Helkinson to the point of near madness. She was constantly having to remind them that they were in a library (her library, but she did not mention this), and to use whispering voices. They acknowledged her, but never obeyed. It gave Ms. Helkinson somewhat of a green eye, seeing them giggling and flirting in giddy frivolity; it reminded her of the life she never had deep down. This made her understandably irritated. How dare they flirt in her presence! They were mocking her. How dare they flirt in the library's presence! She could feel the library communicate with her in her head. It didn't like to be some place to take your date like a diner or a dance; it was too grand to stoop to such a level! Ms. Helkinson's vein in her forehead twitched with anger. They needed to be stopped. At once!

Ms. Helkinson approached them, fists clenched. The library, her true, passionate lover, was screaming at her to bash that little boy's head in with _The Chronological History and Included Texts of Alfred P. Honkadoo, World's First Thinking Genius (and Slightly Ambidextrous) Peanut_. Finally, the kids looked up from their giggling.

"Sorry, ma'am. What was it you said?" the boy with shaggy brown hair smiled.

"Get… out…" she said through clenched teeth.

The boy's eyebrows raised. "I'm… I'm sorry?"

"Get…… out….. now…"

"Have we-"

"NOW! Leave me and my lover in peace!" the mad librarian roared. Charlie and Chelsea jumped up, Chelsea knocking over her books, Charlie shielding her from Ms. Helkinson in case she might suddenly attack.

(The term "mad", dear readers, can be used in many ways. It can mean "angry, spiteful, or indignant", or it can mean "crazy, insane, wonky, or loony", or in some parts of southern California it can mean "awesome, righteous, or extremely cool". Here the term "mad" means all of the above. Oh, wait. Excepting the last one mentioned, because I don't believe they were in southern California at the time.)

Charlie and Chelsea hurriedly recovered their books, binders, and backpacks, to race out the nearest fire exit without another word. As the door closed, Ms. Helkinson could be heard sobbing: "They're gone, precious, they're gone. It's alright. We're alone now. Everything will be alright. Oh, don't be angry, my love, they're gone, and they're never ever coming back. Don't-"

After several minutes of running as far as they could away from the wacky library, it's simulated open pages staring as they ran like some menacing… uh… stone book… menace. Charlie stopped to catch his breath. "Wow… that was… freaky."

"Totally," Chelsea panted, looking around. "So… what do we do now?"

"I… I don't know," Charlie paused. What could he do? Invite her back to his place? Certainly not. Willy would never allow it. But he couldn't just leave her out here to walk home alone…

"I guess if we're through studying, I should be getting home-" Chelsea turned to leave.

"Wait! Chelsea!" Charlie called. She turned, hair a-swishing in the February breeze. It was cold; she was bundled up in a light blue scarf, and it suited her. Her cheeks, nose, and ears were red as strawberries, and in the cold Charlie thought she never looked more beautiful.

"Yes?"

"Do you… do you…"

"Do I what?"

"Do yo want to go have, like, and ice cream with me?" Charlie spat it out.

Chelsea stared at him. "An _ice cream?_"

"Yes. No. No, wait. It's below 20 out here. Would you like to get some… some…" Charlie's mind went blank as… well, blank as the pile of snow shoveled on to the curb beside him.

Chelsea smiled. "Like, some hot chocolate?"

Charlie brightened. "Yeah. But I personally prefer ice cream."

Chelsea laughed. "Yeah, okay. Let's go!"

So the two adolescents turned to go down to the nearest café, but when remembering that they had to pass the library to get there, decided to go the long way instead. Neither of them minded. In the biting snow on the slippery cobblestone streets, Charlie and Chelsea slipped and slid to the café, falling over and picking each other back up and laughing hysterically the whole way; and in the quiet empty library, Ms. Helkinson caressed her love's plaster walls, and sang lullabies to her adoring books; and all of them had never felt warmer.

* * *

Yup... it's sorta short, isn't it? Well, I'll try to have another chapter sooner this time. Please review, so I will know which of you are still alive and which of you have died of old age from such a long waiting period. I'm going to go eat pickled corn now! 


	10. When Falling Into a Chocolate River

**Author's Note**: Hey, guess what? I lied about updating sooner! April Fools! Hahaha…ha…ehem. Sorry about the long update. Y'know the deal: school is crazy, life is chaotic, ruling several third-world countries with a supreme military of Nazi Mangos takes up most of my time… yeah. But thanks anyway fro the reviews!

**To NitrusOxide**: Librarians have always scared me too… twitchtwitchtwitch… along with clowns. Now THOSE are scary. Shudder….

**To Ridel**: Wow! Thanks for the compliment! I'm so happy to know you love this story! I really need reviews to keep me going, so your thoughts would be extremely helpful. I hope you find the way this story goes agreeable, and I look forward to your reviews!

This chapter is also sort of short. Oh well. I promise- there's some pretty good stuff coming up soon. Mwahaha, you have no idea what fun is in store… twitch… well, maybe you do.

* * *

Willy Wonka paced about the factory, muttering to himself more than usual. Charlie hadn't been home for more than two hours. He was delaying business to an absurd degree! Willy needed his opinion on whether or not the new Razzle-dazzle-berry Gum should turn your tongue blue or make your teeth sing well-known Broadway tunes such as "Lullaby of Broadway" and "No One Mourns the Wicked", and now he was thoroughly behind schedule because Charlie chose today of all days to stop and smell the flowers on his way home from school! Wait, he thought, this is February! There are no flowers in February! It was February… Charlie's birthday was approaching soon… Willy should do something special for him. A lad doesn't turn 16 every day, now does he? February… oh yes, it was February, there were no flowers, so what could Charlie possibly be doing in all that snow if he wasn't smelling any flowers? He certainly couldn't smell the snow, because Willy knew for a fact that since snowflakes were composed of tiny crystal people who like to make things delightfully or terribly cool (such as cream), and that the crystal people had no taste or smell (that was why you needed to add flavoring to ice cream, like chocolate fudge or snozberry, because no one really likes buying snow-flavored ice cream, as it doesn't really have a flavor), so Charlie couldn't very well be stopping to smell the tiny crystallized snow people, unless it was yellow snow, and Willy didn't have the faintest idea of why Charlie would ever want to stop and smell and/or taste yellow snow, because it smelled and/or tasted horrific. Willy knew this from past experience. It was that winter day when he was young, his f-f-father had taken him out as a treat to go ice skating at the park, and when his f-father wasn't looking, Willy got curious and decided to take a taste of some oddly-colored snow. Ugh, that was gross. But it was rather funny to watch his f-f-father come running towards him, waving his arms and yelling at him to stop, because he had this wonderfully comic expression on his face. His father was funny when he worried. It wasn't funny when his m-m-mother was sick in the hospital with Willy's supposed new little sister still in her tummy and how his f-f-father paced around the room, worried to death. That wasn't very funny at all. Not at all…

Willy was lost in his own thoughts as he walked briskly through the Chocolate Room, knocking over Oompa-Loompas like bowling pins and muttering some sort of apology negligently. He would've probably continued on like this and scored a strike from knocking so many Oompa-Loompas down, had he not crashed into Sarah bucket at that point, who was standing around, looking about things blankly and her mouth open a little as she muttered things to herself. Willy collided with her, grabbing a branch of a nearby Bloomingdaleberry-twist tree to steady his long, lanky body. The aunt of his co-worker in a trance was not so fortunate. Her arms waved about quickly like sails on a windmill, her body swerving back and forth as she tried to steady herself, her back to the dreamy chocolate river. Willy stared at her in awe for a brief second, the Oompa-Loompas with him as they tried to recover from the Bowling Pin Incident, as Sarah finally lost her balance.

Time it seemed seem to go in slow motion as Sarah slipped and fell backward, heading towards the churning chocolate river, her eyes wild and fearful. Willy uttered a desperate "Nnnnooooooooooo…." And tried to grab at her before his worst fears were proven. His long, stick-like arm swooped to grab at her hair or the nearest thing to him in vain. Oompa-Loompas scrambled up to help, but stopped to watch Sarah emit a little gasping "oh!" as she fell with a splash into the chocolate river.

Time sped up again as Willy squealed much like the way the Wicked Witch of the West did while melting in the beloved story Wizard of Oz due to a terribly simple-minded revolutionary from a distant land trying to destroy one of Oz's lead power sources in hopes of freeing the common Munchkin from a communistic and slightly capitalism-influenced dictatorship, with the help of an effeminate man of metal due to a clumsy yet gory wood-cutting accident, a neutered cat, a naïve man who believed in the importance of intellectualism in the common agricultural worker, and a magical sparkly yet rather shifty medium who was later hung from suspicion of being an ally of the communistic/slightly capitalism-influenced dictator.

The Oompa-Loompas rushed in to fish the squirming woman out of the chocolate as Willy barked in as manly a voice as possible while trying to keep in sobs to fetch the thing out of his precious confection. "Get her out! Get her out! Ohh, my chocolate! What have you done! Ew, it's gross! Don't you realize that my chocolate cannot be touched by human hands? Except for that one time with that German Gloop brat… ugh, that was disgusting. Get out! Get out!"

Sarah was dumped upon the grassy mint-flavored shoal, sputtering and gasping. "Oh… oh dear… I could've drowned!"

"Not likely," Willy rolled his eyes, "Will you stop thinking about yourself for a moment? My chocolate could be ruined!"

"Why don't you just take your chocolate and shove it where-" Sarah stopped. A little dribble of chocolate on her lip touched her tongue while she spoke. Sarah stood there, in awe, her eyes bright, and she rolled the taste around in her mouth. "Oh my," was all she said, and commenced in licking her fingers after she ran them allover her forearm. "This… is… the best thing I've ever tasted in my life!" she cried happily, but with her fingers in her mouth it sounded like, "Thhhrrrllbb… rrllbb…. Thhrrrbllrrbbthnllbbllffghhy!"

"Yes," Willy flashed his scary pearly whites at her in the 'I'm-Willy-Wonka-and-I-think-you-are-a-raving-lunatic' way, "I know it is." He turned to go command the Oompa-Loompas trying to wipe her off but getting snapped at by Sarah, ("It's mine! MINE! Not yours, go get your own!") when he saw Charlie coming down the pathway to the house, a dreamy grin spread like peanut-butter-fudge-and-strawberry-custard-dip all over his freckled face. Sarah stopped for a moment to wave at Charlie as he approached.

"Charlie! Yoo-hoo!"

"Where have you been!" Willy roared, (well, it was Willy's way of roaring, it kind of sounded like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum when she has found out she didn't get the pretty doll house she wanted for Christmas) in angry tone.

"Where have you been!" Sarah cried giddily, forgetting the chocolate for a moment to lean in on potential news of her nephew'snew girlfriend.

"I hope you had fun doing whatever you were doing," Willy said sneeringly, a cold, dejected look in his eyes.

"I hope you had fun doing whatever you were doing," Sarah hinted, batting her eyelashes to teasingly indicate a certain rosy-cheeked, chestnut-colored-haired young lady.

"Loads of fun, thanks," Charlie said dreamily, gazing at the chocolate river and thinking of Chelsea. "We studied hard."

"Studying!" Willy cried, "What the Dentist-Who-Lives-Downstairs is that about! You don't need to be studying, you need to be here giving me your opinion on whether or not the new Razzle-dazzle-berry Gum should turn your tongue blue or make your teeth sing well-known Broadway tunes such as 'Lullaby of Broadway' and 'No One Mourns the Wicked'!"

"Studying!" Sarah laughed, "You don't need to be studying! You need to be taking your girlfriend out to restaurants and complimenting her on how dazzlingly lovely she is, and dancing slowly with her to your favorite Commodores hits!"

Willy turned menacingly to Charlie's aunt. "Why don't you butt out? This is business!"

Sarah scowled at him. "Why don't you? This is his _life_! He's a teenager! What do you think he wants to remember when he's your age-"

"_My_ age!"

"Yes, _your age_- do you think he wants to remember being out there, experiencing the sweetest moments with his girlfriend; or being cooped up in here, making the sweetest candy- lovely chocolate bythe way, is that a hint of hazelnut I detect?-with Wonkers McScreams-Like-a-Girl!"

"I do _not_ scream like a girl!"

"Oh, yes you do!"

"Well, at least I'm not gray!"

"MY HAIR IS BLONDE, FOR THE FIVE-HUNDEREDTH-AND-EIGHTY-SEVENTH TIME!"

"Eighty-eighth."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"IT'S BLONDE!"

"GRAY!"

"BLONDE!"

"GRAY!"

"I'll be getting to my homework now," Charlie sighed dreamily, heading towards the house, "Hey Larry."

Larry waved hello from his work, stuffing some Pina-Colada-flavored cotton candy in his ears and continuing his work. The rest of the Oompa-Loompas (those who weren't still struggling to pick themselves up from the Bowling Pin Incident) did the same.

* * *

Review, or I shall set my rabid flesh-eating Elijah Wood on you! Go, Elijah, go! (Elijah spurts foam from mouth, growling.) 


	11. Strange Facts from an Almanac

**Author's Note: **IIIIIIIIII'm back! Hopefully it wasn't too long a wait. Wow! I am sooooo happy from the reviews! Great job, guys, you're great! I really appreciate it when you just drop something in for me to work with, it makes my job so much easier. If you could just keep up the good work, I would… I would do a happy dance with my flesh-eating rabid Elijah Wood! I put a leash on him… it says "Mr. Tinkles" on the tag. I think he likes it, don't you wittle Ewijah, don't you? (Elijah Wood barks, spitting out foam in glee.) Yes, such a good boy…

To **Noroi: **I'm jubilant that you like me story! Once again, thanks for the great reviews. I totally agree with you on the Willy-romance thing, there are a few too many little girls stealing our favorite chocolatier's heart too quickly. I hope you keep reading, I look forward to your reviews!

To **NitrusOxide:** Wow… that was… random. Yay for randomness! Woot!

To **TheWolfInTheShadows:** You can buy rabid flesh-eating Elijah Woods at Pet's Mart©. They're very trainable, and loyal to their masters. Just remember to feed them, or they get a little… nippy. And that was how my math teacher lost her thumb when I was walking my Elijah in the park this one time… (shudders).

To **Ridel:** Thanks for the review! I hope you find this chapter to your liking!

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: this chapter is pretty long. Hooray, I finally managed to fulfill my promise!

* * *

Since the library incident, Charlie and Chelsea decided that the library was not the best place for them to study. They came to this conclusion by stopping by the next week to see if Ms. Helkinson would react to them being there. As they shaded their eyes with their mittens to peer into the window, they spotted the librarian, donned in what looked like a sailor's uniform, smoking a pipe with her nose intently in a rather long text of the unabridged version of_ Moby Dick._ She had her black galoshes crossed and propped up one a rather menacing harpoon gun. Charlie and Chelsea didn't know how Ms. Helkinson was able to acquire the lethal contraption, or rather why she was smoking a pipe when there was an obvious shiny plaque right above her captain's-hat-laden head that read in brassy letters, "Books do not smoke, so why should you?" Chelsea and Charlie were sure of one thing, though: Ms. Helkinson's performance on the Tuesday before demonstrated to them that she was planning on using the harpoon gun, otherwise it would not be in that location; and- as she caught glimpse of them gawking at her, and grinned malevolently as she leaned over to stroke the polished steel of the harpoon's tip- she was not the sort of woman to forgive and forget easily. So Charlie and Chelsea concurred that it would probably be in their best interest to find some other place to conduct their tutoring. 

"So…" Chelsea said as they shuffled on the sidewalk alongside the shoveled snow from the streets, "where do we go now?"

"I don't know," Charlie pondered, "Could we go to your house?"

"My house?" Chelsea looked at him fearfully, "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I…" she paused, and sighed, "I have this uncle, you see, and he's… not a people person. Very overprotective."

"Oh," Charlie nodded.

"Do you think we could go to your house?"

"No. No, no, no, no, no… I… um… definitely not." Charlie stuttered. Willy would definitely have a temper tantrum and eventually kill something if Charlie brought Chelsea to the factory. Bringing anyone into the factory was against all rules. Charlie was still wondering how Aunt Sarah ever managed to stay there. He uttered a short gasp. Oh, God, Wily would kill Aunt Sarah! He knew that would happen. Willy had the look in his deep purple eyes for weeks now. Aunt Sarah annoyed Willy to no end. Of course, Charlie could also tell the feelings were mutual. Maybe Aunt Sarah would kill him first. That wouldn't be good, oh no it wouldn't. Then Charlie would be terribly lonely, for one thing, since Willy was not only his employer but one of his only true friends; and Charlie would have to quit school and really run the factory all by himself. And then he would never see Chelsea again. Chelsea… oh! She was still here! Charlie had forgotten. He really was spending too much time around Willy.

"Charlie?"

"Um, my parents are… at work. And I don't have a… key." Charlie finished lamely. Well, it was better than _'I'm the secret heir to the world's greatest and most antisocial chocolatier, and if I brought you to my house my employer would murder my aunt, or vice versa.'_

"I see," Chelsea looked down. "Well, there's always that one café we went to. I seem to recall there being some tables and comfortable chairs nearby; we could study there."

"Sounds great," Charlie grinned.

And that was that. From then on, they went directly to the café to study chemistry, English and mechanics, and civics as well. Of course, they had to pass the library to get there, but they usually just crossed to the other side of the street while passing; the library looked down upon them with cold, unfeeling eyes made of stone. They could tell Ms. Helkinson was still there with her harpoon gun, but she didn't frighten them anymore. Except for the one time in the future when she actually crossed to the big window in the front with her harpoon gun, and started yelling things at them in the manner of Captain Ahab; (she actually hopped around on one leg, however sadly the guise was not complete because apparently she had no wooden peg leg lying randomly around the premises,) Charlie and Chelsea were sure she was implying that they were the great fat albino whale known infamously as Moby Dick. That was a bit creepy.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Willy had given up trying to persuade his heir to give up his disgusting affections, stop mooning around sheepishly, and get some actual work done. He tried to remind himself that Charlie was merely a sort of normal young man, and had feelings and what Grandpa George called "bloody raging hormones", just like many other men. Willy never really had experienced the dread of raging hormones whilst going through puberty; he had fortunately been saved from this plight. While he was going through puberty, he was busy exploring the world, pestering and prodding it for all of its marvelous candy-making secrets. He spent a few years in Belgium, for that was one of the great candy capitals of the world, and after that a year in Switzerland. He even spent a few months in South America, studying the origin of chocolate, the almighty cacao bean. Willy thought he had been experiencing warm feelings for girls one time in South America, when he was staying with the rather large Venezuela family, whom harvested and exported a great plantation of cacao beans. There was one girl, the third-youngest daughter named Tichi, whom Willy thought he just _might_ be developing affections for. She was very pretty, he supposed: she had long, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes, and a pretty laugh. Willy sometimes followed her around, with a listless feeling in his heart and a terrible knot in his stomach. However, she was very silly, and she always complained about the cacao beans, preferring instead to tease her pretty hair. Willy soon found out that he did not feel any warm affection for Tichi at all, how could he when all she did was ramble on incessantly about what havoc chocolate wreaked on one's complexion, what horrible pimples it gave one. Willy dismissed it as indigestion, and as fate would have it he was correct, for the affects of tasting and eating so many cacao beans and so much pure, hard chocolate was making him a tad sick. He ate his candy a little more slowly after that.

Anyway, Willy was left with a lot more work to do since Charlie refused to do his properly, preferring to lollygag around with his little girlfriend. However, Willy found that since Charlie wasn't there to do the work with him, it wasn't as fun. So Willy allowed himself to procrastinate for just a little bit until Charlie was fit enough to work, walking apathetically around the factory, disinterestedly admiring his works and nodding occasionally to the workers as they passed by. He decided to visit the family in the Chocolate Room, strolling down to the lop-sided house and knocking formally on the door.

"Come in," said a voice from inside. Willy entered the house to find the grandparents sitting casually on the couch and in the lounge chairs, where they normally sat (they had been able to get out of bed since they came to the factory), except for Grandpa Joe, who since when he first came to the factory had taken to walking around quite a bit.

"Grandpa Joe is taking a walk," Grandma Josephine said, "He needed some fresh air."

"He wanted to look at the pretty flowers that spew the green powderwhich tastes like blueberries that have been growing on the chocolate canyons lately." Grandma Georgina remarked.

Everyone stared at her in surprise. "What?" Grandpa George asked.

"Say what?"

"What?"

"That's what I said."

"I know what I said, I'm asking you what you said previously, you old biddy!"

"Well I can't remember back all that way, George!"

"It was only a few seconds ago!"

"Oh? Oh yes. I was talking about Roy Rogers."

"Roy Rogers? Why the bloody devil are you talking about him?"

"Opalescent."

"What?"

"Pumpkins. They're opalescent."

"Where did you get that from?"

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, George." Grandma Josephine moderated.

"But pumpkins aren't even opalescent! They're bloody orange! There is nothing shiny about pumpkins at all."

"Well I don't know about that…"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw a pumpkin once while it was raining, and it looked pretty opalescent to me."

"Well that's when it's _raining_ outside, it's entirely different."

"Downright obsequious, if you ask me."

"What is?"

Grandma Georgina paused. "Dragonflies?"

While the senior citizens were rambling on, Willy noticed Sarah sitting in a corner. He proceeded to walk over to her. When one is so extremely bored to a certain degree, dear readers, one is even desperate enough to hold polite conversation with one's enemies, and very bored Willy was.

"Hullo," Willy mumbled, devising some wonderful insult about gray hair, or mismatching plaid skirts and striped stockings.

"Did you know," Sarah said thoughtfully, "that turtles are able to breath through their butts?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I read it in an almanac once."

"An almanac?"

"Yes. An almanac is an annual publication including calendars with weather forecasts, astronomical information, tide tables, and other related tabular information; didn't you know that?"

"I know what an almanac _is_, I just wouldn't think the fact that turtles can breathe through their butts would necessarily be _located_ in an almanac."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because generally almanacs list things like weather forecasts, the scores of all the games played by the Boston Red Sox in 1983, and the average harvest of cranberries in Chunky, Mississippi."

"Do they harvest cranberries down there?"

"I don't really know; I'm just throwing out examples."

"Oh."

They sat like that for a few minutes. Grandpa George was going on about some Polish man that he met while fighting in the Second World War.

"He had blonde hair," Grandpa George recalled, "so blonde, it looked white. What was particularly interesting about him was that he had seven fingers on his right hand. Now, six-fingered people- people with polydactyly- they're generally rarely found in this world, but this fellowwas even rarer- hehad_ seven_ fingers."

"One for each hand?" Grandma Josephine inquired.

"No, the seventh one sprouted out of the sixth one. Because he had this weird branching joint, he was able to shoot his gun in a manner that actually was quite helpful to him later on. You see, he held it like this, and then he-"

"So," Willy said after a while, "Turtles can breathe through their butts?"

"Yes, they can indeed. A most interesting paradox, don't you think?"

"Indeed," Willy paused, thinking, "I wonder how life would be if people were able to breathe through their butts."

Sarah looked at him. "What ever can you mean?"

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't smell too good, but it could really help you in desperate situations."

"Oh?"

"I mean, if you were on the swim team, you could be the most valued player, because you wouldn't have to waste time trying to breathe; you could just poke your rear end out of the water while you were kicking your legs."

Sarah smiled. "I suppose so. Or, if you were really in trouble and someone was trying to strangle you, it wouldn't be all that difficult to survive, would it? You could just breathe through another way. I mean, assuming the other person strangling you isn't covering that air vent as well."

"Yes." Willy tensed up little, edging away. She was freaking him out again, and that was what he did whenever people freaked him out a little too much. Like that mother of that terrible little bubble-gum chewing girl. Ugh. That was weird.

Grandpa Joe had returned now, with Mr. Bucket, home from work. "Good afternoon, Buckets," they called back.

"Good afternoon," the Buckets called back. Even Willy joined in; he was unofficially considered family, therefore making him an unofficial Bucket. After all, it was so much easier to just say 'Good afternoon, Buckets,' and assume everyone calling back would be either a Bucket or an unofficial one, than to call 'Good afternoon, Buckets and Wonka-who-is-being-officially-considered-an-unofficial-Bucket-therefore-having-every-right-to-answer-back-to-this-call-as-well.' Willy didn't want to make everyone go to the trouble of saying that. That was just rude.

"I also read," Sarah continued, as if nothing had happened in the past 3 minutes, "that it is possible to lead a cow upstairs, but not downstairs."

"No, really?"

"Yes! I read it."

"That can't be true."

"Well, it is." Sarah pouted.

"And you read this in an almanac as well?"

"Yes. Well… at least… I think I did… I don't know, I mean… I can't remember. But I'm pretty sure I did." Sarah was second-guessing herself, obviously having one of those moments where she doubted her sanity. Willy would have made a comment, but he had one of those moments this morning, and that would be… well, rude.

"I once read in a book that a duck's quack doesn't echo," Willy offered. Sarah looked up, snapping out of her doubting-sanity-trance.

"Really!"

"Yes."

"That's amazing. Not even in a very deep cave?"

"Nope."

"Not even in the Grand Canyon?"

"No."

"Not even in a tin can surrounded by hollow walnut shells in the middle of the Gobi Desert?"

"No. Well, I don't think so."

"And why is that?"

"Why is what, that I don't think so?"

"No, why is it that a duck's quack doesn't echo?"

"I don't know. Nobody knows. It's a mystery."

"Oh dear…" Sarah shook her head pityingly, "Well, we can't have that, can we? It would ruin the Good People who Make Almanac's reputation. I know what we should do: we should find out why ourselves."

"That's a good idea."

"Yes. Maybe if we did that, the good people who make almanacs would put us in a new edition of almanac, as the Good People Who Found Out Why Duck's Quacks Do Not Echo."

"I've never been in an almanac before," Willy considered.

"Really? Are you sure you're not in one as 'Chocolatier With Highest Candy Sales Around the World,' or something?"

"Well… I really don't know."

"Well, you should look; you might just be in there. That's what almanacs are for, you know." Sarah ordered authoritively. It made Willy feel rather meek, which he didn't like to normally feel.

"Do you even know who _invented_ the first almanac?" Willy shot back.

"Um… was it Benjamin Franklin?"

"No."

"It wasn't?"

"No. I don't think so, at least. I think he made _an_ almanac, but not _the_ first almanac."

"Well, if you don't know, then why don't you go look?"

"Maybe I will!" Willy stood up abruptly, bumping his tall head on the slanted roof in the process.

"Fine!"

"Good!"

"Go, then!"

"I am! And I'm going to find out the reason why duck's quacks don't echo as well!" Willy turned on his heel to leave, and stalked to the door.

"Not before I find out first!" Sarah called after him.

Willy turned around, clutching his cane, trying to find a clever comeback. "You… you… grey!"

"BLONDE!"  
"GREY!"  
"BLONDE!"  
"GREY!" with that, Willy bid the Buckets a quick farewell, shutting the door and stomping out to find the glass elevator. Sarah jumped up to dash to Charlie's room to see if there was an almanac somewhere.

"Such a nice boy, really," Grandma Georgina smiled.

"Who?"

She paused. "Dragonflies?"


	12. Box of Matches

**Author's Note: **Yeah, this chapter's filled with Valentine's Day stuff, and I know that I'm several weeks late on all this V-Day goodness, but I'm a procrastinator and also quite busy, so I apologize, but I guess you'll just have to read this story and pretend that it's based several weeks ago before Valentine's Day, if you want to.

**To NitrusOxide: **Dark chocolate has also been proven to release some sort of cleansing chemical that helps clean out the arteries and thus help prevent heart-attacks. CHOCOLATE SAVES THE DAY AGAIN! (cue heroic music)

**To TheWolfInTheShadows:** I'm planning a special Valentine's Day thing in the upcoming chapter. Single-Awareness Day! Woot!

**To Cheorl: **I really wish you would update your story; I've really missed your chapters! If you'll look, you'll notice I used your strange paradox in my chapter, because I'm just… in desperate need of weird things for this story like that, yo.

Please review. Please? Please? Pretty please? Even if you just skim through this story, I really appreciate it. You can even just put something totally random in there if you feel like it, like what you had for breakfast this morning, but I'd really prefer some constructive criticism or praise or anything. For the sake of all things random, please review!

* * *

It was February the 12th. An unnaturally dreary winter day. As I have told you before, readers, February is naturally a dreary month, because it is stuck in between fall: the lovely month of Halloween, autumn leaves, and high candy sales; and beautiful spring: the month of baby chicks, Easter bunnies, fresh growth, high school exams, high hormones, and high candy sales. The worst thing about February was that it was in the terrible part of winter where Christmas had already come and gone, and all children were already bored with their presents, and New Years had come and gone, and all children were bored with their little happy-New-Year-blowing-horns, and that all the sparkling winter snow had melted away into sludge because spring was approaching. February is sort of like the puberty month of all the twelve months of the year: gangly, dreary, uncomfortable, nostalgic of the past and not quite approaching the future at the same time, and covered in horrible acne. However, the one good thing about February was that candy sales were still up- which was why February was one of Willy Wonka's busiest years.

Now, most of you I'm sure know about Valentine's Day, the Lover's Holiday, as it were, where hormone-induced lovers laden each other with bouquets of roses and chocolates and occasionally diamonds, and tell each other how lovely they think the other really is; while the single people go off and drink things that should not be ingested if one is a designated driver, and go buy little dangerous weapons and shoot harmless woodland creatures mocking them in a nearby wood. Well anyway, Valentine's Day was only two days away, and every year Charlie's high school held a fabulous Valentine's Day masquerade ball, in which couples would dance to many well-known tunes while getting sugar-high on boxes of candy and cake and punch. (Sometimes some of the more malevolent and mischievous teachers such as Mr. Warsaw who taught humanities in room 13D would spike the punch and take pictures of all the intoxicated post-dehydrated teachers and students and then post them up the next day in the teacher's lounge. However, Mr. Warsaw always framed the students for this crime, and the students would always receive a lecture from him on the damaging effects on one's life of… well, things that one who was lonely on Valentine's Day would drink at home with a weapon.)

Charlie returned home from school that day with huge, sloppy grin on his face. He had been getting into the routine of coming home late with a big grin on his face, but today he was on time, and the grin was simply oozing off his lips and cheeks. In fact, one of the Oompa-Loompas had to mop it up off the floor, it was so superfluous.

Sarah had been sitting outside on a candied mushroom, cross-legged and barefoot with large sunglasses with enormous black lenses perched on her small ski-slope of a nose; she had stolen a box of matches, and was in the process of plucking the little white spots off the red mushroom she was sitting on, taking a match to them, and watching each one sizzle. Charlie approached his aunt, the Oompa-Loompa with the mop following close behind, and plopped down on the cool mint-flavored grass; the Oompa-Loompa with the mop sighing in exasperation and leaving.

"Afternoon, lovey," Sarah said, not looking up from her work, "Home a little early, are we?"

"We decided there wasn't anything to really tutor about today," Charlie sighed dreamily, his brown eyes aglow with sweetness. Did that sound cheesy?

"Oh, there's always something to tutor about," Sarah lit another match, "Something just happened that made you two awkward or excited or something. Would it have anything to do with the fact that Valentine's Day is not but two days from now?"

"I asked her to the Valentine's dance, and she said yes," Charlie rolled over several times, squirming with glee. "Me? Can you imagine it? I'm going to the dance with the prettiest girl in the whole school. In the whole city. In the whole world!"

Sarah didn't take her eyes off the white sugary splotch that she was lighting aflame, but if she had she would have rolled them. "It seems that you been bitten by the Cupid bug, ducky, and bitten hard."

"However do you mean?"

"You have it in your eyes. It's oozing out of you. Look, it can't even be mopped up, there's so much. It's so cheesy I could dip a nacho in it and have it with wine."

"I can't help it," Charlie sighed, leaping and thrusting his fist in the air, "I feel like flying!"

"I'm sure you can do that, because your wonky old boss wants to see you in the Soda Room or something like that."

"CHARLIE!" a high shriek came from the tunnel as the pink dragon boat appeared.

"Speak of the devil," Sarah mumbled, tossing the shriveled, charred white blob aside and lighting another match.

"Thank goodness, my boy! You're not late! Wonderful, we have so much to do. Valentine's Day is quickly approaching you know, and Friday will be very busy indeed. And so many things are breaking down lately, we'll need to work doubly as fast and doubly as hard to make due. Now first we need to…" Willy paused, narrowing his eyes. "Charlie, you look ill. Are you quite alright?"

"He's been bitten," Sarah burnt her thumb and sucked on it.

"By what?"

"The lurrrrve bug," Charlie sighed happily.

"I'm sorry… what?" Willy looked more confused than usual.

"He asked his bonny sweetheart out to a dance on Friday, and she said yes." Sarah dropped another white blob.

"What." Willy's eye twitched as he tried to keep his control. "Charlie, you have your work here. You are the sole heir of this candy factory, and running a factory is a big responsibility. If you can't-"

"Oh, don't get your panties all caught up in a knot, Mr. Wonka," Sarah sighed, throwing a dud match down after trying to light it several times and getting nothing, "It's Valentine's Day, and he's in love. Let him have just a little fun."

"Ugh, Valentine's Day," Wonka cringed at the word and rolled his eyes. "I remember it in my… naïve… days. Listen Charlie, the story of Valentine's Day is a silly and pointless one. Once upon a time, Cupid (the son of Venus, in some cultures,) got extremely bored. It was February, and everyone knows February is a naturally dreary month. After all, it comes in between Christmas and Easter. So, he decided to shrug off his ethereal chores that day, and go randomly skewering people with his dangerous bow he got for Christmas from Athena (the god of shiny dangerous weapons) and pack of spiked arrows, while dropping giant heart-shaped boxes of glorious calorie-laden chocolate (which he got for Christmas from Hershey, the god of sweets,) upon poor human's heads. While Cupid caused turmoil, suffering, and major thigh amplification, some holy dude named St. Valentine (or sometimes in fancy dance clubs 'Valentino') suddenly got an idea and shouted out, 'Hey! We should make this into a holiday or something, because there needs to be some sort of holiday between Christmas and Easter!' The people with big thighs were overjoyed. 'Great idea, St. Valentine/Valentino!' they frivolously cried. Ever since that fateful February day, once a year people all over the world gather to buy extravagant heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, cry over soppy old romance movies starring Carey Grant and sulk about how being single (or not single, for that matter) stinks; and mercilessly slaughter many innocent roses. To get Cupid back, however, artists like to portray Cupid as a naked blushing baby, or sometimes called a cherub. Cupid really didn't like that; his manliness was forever sprained. Valentine's Day is a day of high candy sales, and a day to appreciate the neccessity of chocolate, nothing more."

"That was a lovely story." Sarah watched, entranced, the flames of the match lick the sugary white blob and causeits victim to twitch and sizzle away slowly.

"Thank you." Willy grinned proudly, shoving his thumbs in his vest and bobbing on his shiny heels. "I was saving it for the opportune moment."

"If you have nothing better to do than to just think up of stories to reprimand my dearest darling nephew, then you obviously do not have much to do by means of making candy, so why are you reprimanding Charlie for lagging in his work in the first place when you yourself haven't done much to help the situation?" Sarah grinned smugly for a moment, lighting another match.

Willy glowered menacingly down at the not-young-not-old woman. "Did you get those sunglasses from the TV room?"

"I don't know where they came from."

"Did you_ steal _them? You know, I do not tolerate thieves in this factory." He rapped his cane on the ground.

"I got Larry over there to fetch me some. The sun today is simply unbearable."

Willy looked up. "If you were sane _at all_, you would clearly see that there_ is_ no sun in this room, my dear Miss Bucket. They are but a few lights to help the workers see and the candy grow. If you haven't noticed, the occasional simulated snow isn't snow either, it's just powdered sugar. And I would not make such comments about _my_ form of work, being as _you_ are a guest in_ my _home."

Sarah said nothing at this, just wagged her head slightly and mumbled a few inaudible words under her breath, mimicking the chocolatier, who now had his turn to grin smugly.

"Please, Willy," Charlie lost his love-struck gleam for a moment to look at his employer with sad puppy-dog eyes. "It really means a lot to me. Please let me go?"

Willy's lip curled, and he tensed up at Charlie's sad puppy-dog eyes. "Oh no, no… not the face with the eyes and the… ugh. Fine. Have it your way. Just go to the stupid thing, and leave me to do all the work. It's not like I'm getting any younger. Maybe I should just make someone else who _doesn't_ have a '_life_' my heir. Like… like her." He gestured to Sarah. Sarah looked up blankly for a moment.

"Say, I've got an idea: Charlie, why don't you work extra hard today and tomorrow on the 13th, and try to get all the candy ready for the next day, so that way there won't be as much trouble for Mr. Wonka here on the 14th?"

"That's a wonderful idea!" Charlie cried gaily, regaining his silly love-struck glow and frolicking off into a field of lemon-flavored daisies, singing. "Lalalalalalala…"

Willy sighed, scratching his hair under his tall hat and glancing down at Sarah, who had resumed her burning. "Practicing for the Noble Society of Demented Arsonists, are we?"

Sarah paused, staring at the sizzling abating blob of candy in her palm. "Sometimes my brain feels like this," she sighed.

Willy blinked at her for a minute. "Mine too," he said quietly. Sarah paused, and smiled up at him. It was the crazy, bug-eyed, toothy smile, and Willy jumped a little. "Erm… I notice you're… not wearing your stockings today."

"What?"

"The green-and-black stockings. You seem to wear the same outfit every day, and I notice today you're not wearing them."

"Oh… they're in the wash."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. You have to wash stockings eventually, you know."

"Yes. I rather like them."

"What?"

"The stockings. They're very… you know… Tim-Burton…ish."

"Yes," Sarah smiled, "I've always been a fan of Tim Burton."

"Me too."

"That's rather strange, because it seems you've been rather sheltered for fifteen years, or so the story goes, so I can't really imagine you seeing any of his recent movies."

"I've seen a few of them, when I care to."

"How?"

"The TV Room."

"What's that?"

"It's sort of hard to explain."

"Oh, okay, well then don't bother explaining it to me, because it will just confuse me."

"Alright." Willy stood awkwardly there for a moment, before saying, "Well, I'd better get going. Lots of things to do, you know."

"Of that I'm sure. I'll just stay here and continue to burn… stuff."

"Okay. Oh, and by the way, how's your almanac project going?"

"What?"

"You know, trying to find out why duck's quacks do not echo."

"Oh! Oh, yes. I haven't found anything yet, but I did find an interesting little tidbit: did you know that dragonflies prefer orange posicles over blue ones?"

"I love dragonflies!" Grandma Georgina shouted from indoors.

"I didn't know that."

"Well, now you do." Sarah shoved her enormous sunglasses up her nose, and continued with her work. Willy shrugged, and turned, before turning back around and giving her an abruptpat on thefrizzy bun on top of her head, and striding after Charlie, who had picked up the Oompa-Loompa with the mop and was swinging the poor being around, singing a well-known Commodore's song in a very nice baritonevoice. He could sing well if he wanted to.

Mrs. Bucket's voice came from the inside of the house. "I smell… something sweet. Like a marshmallow burning. Is something burning?"

"I think Sarah's roasting something outside." Grandpa Joe remarked.

"Wait… where's that box of matches? It was here a minute ago; oh dear, it was a 64-pack- Sarah!" Mrs. Bucket stuck her head out the window. "Sarah! You're not supposed to have matches, remember? We talked about this now dear! Give them back!"

Sarah hurriedly snuffed out the match, glancing behind her, and then whispered to an Oompa-Loompa nearby, "I was never here, understand?"

The Oompa-Loompa nodded solemnly, and went back to his work as Sarah went to go hide behind a tree, Charlie's mum chasing after her with a wooden spoon.

* * *

I forgot to mention this in my author's note: you've probably noticed I've started using weird but true paradoxes in my chapters, specifically for the dialogue between Willy and Sarah. I would be eternally grateful if you guys, when reviewing, (wink wink hint hint) would just drop something totally random and weird but true in somewhere, because I'm running low on facts. Actually, even if you're too lazy to tell me what you thought of my chapter, if you could just put something that you read in Ripley's Believe it or Not, that would be great. I promise I will try to put it in as soon as possible; so keep a look out for your fact, it'll be in there for you!

Thanks again,

anotherblastedromantic


	13. Charlie's First Date

**Author's Note: **Wow. It's been... um... forever. Geeze maneeze! I had meant to update this one million years ago, and I guess I just... well. Summer's almost here, and that will give me more time to update. All I can really give you- those of you readers who either still care about this story or have not died from old age- is a big apology and a very long chapter. I don't think I'll bother with reviews, since most of you have probably forgotten what you've said. Well, maybe I'll just put them on this chapter a little later when I have enough time and exams aren't hovering over me like a dead goose.

Also, I would like to remind you to drop in a few random facts that you've found in the past, because as you can see I use them in my chapters. For those of you who have sropped in a few already: thank you so much for your support, and please keep up the good work! Look to see your facts in here, I guarantee you they're there.

* * *

Mrs. Hannah Bucket's eyes were aglow behind tears. Honestly, she hadn't thought she'd ever experience this kind of joy 20 years ago. Then again, she wasn't a mother 20 years ago. But she certainly felt like one now, as she gripped a small camera in her calloused fingers, shuffling around to get the right light for the fifteenth perfect shot of her son standing awkwardly in his tuxedo, ready to go to his first high school dance. She felt like a lioness on the prowl for fresh meat- meat in this case being a metaphor to a good memory in their family album, a massive monument to Bucket's past and present. There even a few pictures of Willy shoved awkwardly in there- he apparently wasn't one for photos- not nearly enough photos in Mrs. Bucket's opinion. Willy was the Unofficial Member of the Bucket Family now, so he had to share all of their embarrassing moment, like it or not. Thus, Mrs. Bucket had been chasing Willy around, trying to get a good shot of him with his grinning young heir.

"Please, Willy, this will go so much faster if you cooperate," Mrs. Bucket tried to get a snap of Willy backed into a corner, but he jumped out of the view just in time.

"It's bad enough having every darned person from here to Loompa-land poking their noses within my gates to see me, but I will definitely not tolerate-"

"Willy, come on, I'm going to be late!" Charlie protested.

"Don't forget you're _supposed_ to be working for me tonight, but I was gracious enough to-"

"Oh, Mr. Wonka's just doing this for attention," Aunt Sarah came down the stairs, "He's just jealous because for once it's about good Charlie instead of him and all his chocolate glory."

"I certainly am not!"

"Oh, please, you are so-"

"Grey!"

"Can we just all get along for one second and take a bloody picture?" Mr. Bucket cried.

"Yes, let's Gather round, everybody!" Grandpa Joe said, setting up the camera. The rest of the grandparents bunched up next to Charlie and his parents. Sarah grabbed Willy, who was edging away to make his escape, and Willy grabbed an Oompa-Loompa who had come in to give Charlie a hand-crafted tribal corsage, The mass of people an Oompa-Loompa stood together for a moment, anticipating that somewhat frightening flash and click of the camera. The photo came out fine: everyone had been smiling except for Willy, who had been scowling, the Oompa-Loompa, who looked either solemn or confused, and Grandma Josephine, who had sneezed in the middle of the shot.

"Well, I suppose you must be off then," Mrs. Bucket sniffled, "Are you sure you don't want a sandwich before you go?"

"They have food at the dance, Mum."

"Oh," Mrs. Bucket crushed her son in a motherly bosom hug, "My boy's grown up so fast!" she shrieked.

"You're messing up his hair, Hannah." Sarah commented.

"Not to mention his air supply and blood flow to his brain," Grandpa George said. He winked at Charlie and decided to not try to pry Mrs. Bucket off him. That was Mr. Bucket's job. Aunt Sarah kissed her nephew on the cheek, his grandfathers and father gave him manly slaps on the back, Grandma Josephine made an attempt to comb his hair one more time, and a sulking Willy mumbled a low "have a good time… I guess," to his shiny shoes.

Grandma Georgina pulled Charlie aside, whispering "Beware of wolves in dragonfly's wings, Charlie."

"Don't you mean wolves in sheep's clothing?"

"No. I meant it, Charlie: sheep in llama's leotards are sure to bring a nice boy like you to your elbows."

"I love you, Grandma Georgina."

"Have a nice time at your bar mitzvah, Charlie," she smiled, and gave him a hug.

Charlie stepped outside the house, and took a final look inside at his family. "Well, I'm off, Buckets!" he grinned, and waved.

"Have a nice time, Charlie!" they all waved back and watched him exit the Chocolate Room to go out to the purple car.

Sarah's eyes rolled about the room. "Don't you hate it when someone takes a picture of you and then you see that little purple light after it flashes, but you can never directly look at it?" She went to boil some tea, but smacked into the table. "Stupid purple light…"

"I suppose I should be going as well," Willy turned to go, but Mrs. Bucket turned him around and sat him on the couch.

"You're not going anywhere, Mr. Wonka," Mrs. Bucket scolded. "Not without some dinner in your stomach. We're having lasagna tonight, and you need a bit of meat on those skinny legs of yours. Maybe you wouldn't trip over yourself all the time if you ate less candy and more lasagna. Have you washed up yet?"

"No ma'am," Willy whimpered.

"Well, do so quickly. Hurry, hurry! We're about to set the table! That goes for you too," she glanced at the Oompa-Loompa.

"It's the Empty Nest Feeling," Grandpa George mumbled under his breath to Willy, before turning off the television.

Willy gulped, terrified.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Charlie pulled up to Chelsea's house at 6:45 sharp in the sleek purple convertible. Her house was… big, to say in the least. It seemed to loom over him, as if to say, "What are you doing here, loser?" Charlie swallowed, before approaching the giant oak door and ringing the doorbell. In time, Chelsea poked her head out the window and waved, opening the door quickly.

Charlie had to keep his jaw from unhinging and clattering to the floor in awe. She looked like a goddess. No, she was even more beautiful than a goddess. She was swathed in a sleek silk baby blue dress that gently framed the curves of her body, with a cloud of lacy translucent, rhinestone-embedded white fabric enveloping her bare shoulders, hugging her thin waist, and falling like a waterfall off her hips to the floor. Her hair was twisted up in some confusing bun, the rest of the hair falling down in loose ringlets about her face and shoulders. From the sparkling pink gloss that was applied perfectly on those perfect pouting lips- oh, how he wished to be gloss upon those lips so that he may touch them!- to her dainty beautiful feet in those somewhat hazardous heels, she was every bit as perfect as he imagined her to be. Charlie just stood there, gaping.

"Well, what's the matter, Charlie? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

_Not a ghost, an angel maybe…_

Charlie could only utter strange gasps and gurgles. He fished out the corsage, and held it out to her. "T-t-t-this is for you," he stuttered. Chelsea smiled, and took it.

"Oh, it's beautiful! Wow, how much was this? I don't think I've ever seen flowers like this before!"

Charlie didn't bother to state it was because they were rare flowers from a country that not many humans had ever seen before either. He glanced behind her to see a shadow move across the wall. "Is someone in there?"

"It's… it's just my uncle. I told you about him, didn't I? Oh well, it doesn't matter, let's go!" she grabbed his hand and walked briskly to the car. Charlie opened the door for her, and she slid in, then he walked around and got in, putting the keys in and starting the car. As the drove down the street to their school, Charlie tried to make small talk.

"So… how have you been?"

"Good." Chelsea kept her eyes forward.

"That's good," Charlie paused. "Um… how have your grades been?"

"Hm? Oh," she smiled, "they've been great. I really can't thank you enough for your help, Charlie. I'm really getting the hang of it."

"That's wonderful." Charlie sighed, trying to keep his eyes on the road and not on how marvelous his date looked. "You look beautiful tonight. I mean, you look beautiful every day, but tonight you look… you know… ten times more beautiful. You- you know what I mean."

"I do," Chelsea smiled, "thanks. You look pretty good yourself."

"Thanks," Charlie blushed. Great, he was getting a great start on the night- first he had made himself look like a complete dunce, and now his English skills were malfunctioning. Wonderful. Next thing he knew, he would be spilling some staining drink on her expensive dress.

They arrived at the high school promptly, and Charlie got out first to open the door for Chelsea. She slid out, and when Charlie locked the car they walked arm-in-arm to the auditorium. It seemed as if everyone was there tonight, in their best clothes. Charlie felt a little embarrassed; his tuxedo was a rental and two sizes too big for him. Willy had offered to lend him one of his suits, however Charlie knew that he was way too short to wear Willy's stuff, and besides- Willy had a taste for the… extravagant. He would feel even more embarrassed walking in wearing a purple crushed velvet tuxedo with the collar in the shape of a giant "W" with little gold Ws embellished all over the shirt than a rental black tuxedo that was too big for him. So Charlie put his chin up, edged a little closer to Chelsea. Well, it really didn't matter- people were looking more at Chelsea and how marvelous she was than him. It gave him a bit of comfort to watch her do that cute little girlish finger-wiggle wave at her friends, because he knew he wasn't expected to do the same to his friends because well, he didn't have any. Not any real friends, anyway. Willy was his only true best friend.

_And look what you're doing; leaving him behind in the factory to do your work while you go out and party. Some friend you are._

Well, Charlie thought, Willy isn't one for parties anyway. Or photos, for that matter. He smiled to himself, wondering what kind of torture Willy was going through in trying to escape from his mother, but then felt even more guilty about it, so he decided to not think about Willy or anything else for the rest of the night except for having a good time with Chelsea. Who would have guessed in a million years that Charlie, the loser of the sophomore class, would have been lucky enough to land the prettiest, nicest, most popular girl in school? Charlie himself couldn't believe it. Maybe it was a dream- all a wonderful dream- and the next morning Charlie would wake up the next morning and be 13 years old again with nothing but his family's love. No Willy, no chocolate factory, no inheritance, no Aunt Sarah, his grandparents still sick and his father still unemployed. Charlie grinned. This was some kind of great dream.

WWWWWWW

Willy hadn't been feeling to well to work, he claimed, so he decided to stay for dessert as well as dinner, because apparently he thought that might make him feel a little better. So, he was talking about the wonders of endorphins and the body when Grandma Georgina had an outburst.

"I love billboards!"

"Billboards?" Mr. Bucket asked nonchalantly.

"Yes! Billboards are wonderful!"

"Why are they wonderful? They're rectangular."

"I hate rectangles."  
"Then why do you love billboards?"

"I never said I loved billboards."

"Yes you did."

"No, I said I loved album record cases."

"But those are rectangular too!"

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, John."

"Did you know that there aren't any billboards in the state of Vermont?" Sarah asked.

"Really? Why not?"

"I really don't know."

"I remembered why I hate billboards!" Grandma Georgina cried. "They ruin the landscape! Ugly buggers," she grumbled.

"That is true, isn't it?"

"Well, maybe that's why the Nice People Who Live In Vermont decided to not allow any there," Mrs. Bucket served the coffee cake, "Because there's such nice scenery in Vermont."

"And they have to use it sparingly," Grandpa George commented, "Vermont isn't all that big, is it?"

"I think it's big." Grandma Josephine stated.

"Well, it's not as big as other states," Grandpa George argued.

"It's bigger than Rhode Island," Grandpa Joe interjected.

"Everything's bigger than Rhode Island," Grandpa George rolled his eyes, "_I'm_ bigger than Rhode Island."

"I like Rhode Island." Grandma Josephine pouted, "There are nice people in Rhode Island."

"Is that where the Oompa-Loompas came from?" Mr. Bucket inquired of Willy.

Willy looked up. "Um… no. They came from Loompaland."

"Where is Loompaland, actually?"

"I… um… it's kind of hard to say. Somewhere around the Caribbean."

"I also read," Sarah continued, "That in the Caribbean there are oysters that can climb trees."

"Oysters climb trees! No!" Grandma Josephine cried.

"Yes, indeed."

"But I thought oysters were sessile." Mr. Bucket took a bite of his coffee cake.

"I… I don't know if they are or not, I just know that they climb trees in the Caribbean."

"I know that oysters are bivalves, which means they have two shells and one muscular foot."

"Oysters have feet! No!" Grandma Josephine cried.

"Yes, indeed."

"I wonder if oysters climb trees in Vermont." Mr. Bucket pondered.

"I bet they don't." Grandpa George stated pessimistically.

"What's the spice in this cake, dear?" Grandma Josephine asked Mrs. Bucket.

"Nutmeg. I added something new in there."

"It's tasty."

"Nutmeg!" Willy snapped his fingers. "That could be it!"

"What could be, dear?" Grandma Josephine turned to Willy. (She treated him sort of like the Unofficial Grandson at times.)

"The missing ingredient," Willy stood up abruptly, sat down, and stood up again. "Charlie and I are working on this new candy, but every time we test it, it causes the consumer's tongue to pucker up in a most stringent manner, and it doesn't go away for quite a while. Anyway, we're looking for the missing ingredient."

"Oh! That's the other thing I was going to tell you, Hannah! I read that nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously."

Mr. Bucket gagged a bit on his cake, and took a swig of coffee.

"Is nutmeg legal in Vermont?"

"I am almost positive it is. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, if oysters don't climb trees there, and billboards aren't allowed there, then I suppose nutmeg shouldn't be allowed there either."

"Vermont certainly sounds like such a nice, safe place to live."

"John Deere was born in Vermont, wasn't he?"

"Are there deer in Vermont?"

"No, John Deere- the tractor person."

"I love tractors!" Grandma Georgina cried.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Meanwhile, Charlie and Chelsea had just finished dancing to the song, "Time After Time," by Cindi Lauper, and extremely slow and sappy song perfect for slow and sappy dancing. Charlie had never felt more blissful, standing there, with his hands on her shoulder and curvy waist, her small, delicate hands resting on his shoulders.

"I'm having a great time, Charlie," Chelsea smiled up Charlie.

"M-me too, Ch-Chelsea. Having a good time, I mean."

"I'm glad I could be your date," she paused. "I really like you, Charlie."

"I like you too, Chelsea." He was dreaming. He was dreaming. He was dreaming.

"You're really nice."

"You're the nicest girl I've ever met."

"That's so-"

"No, really," Charlie felt the words pour uncontrollably out of him like the waters of Niagara Falls. "you're too good for me. You're smart, and beautiful, and funny, and perfect in every way. I mean, I've never felt like this before. No girl's ever acted this way to me before. I… I don't know what I'd do without you, Chelsea."

"Really?" Chelsea stared at him. "That's… that's the nicest compliment anyone's ever given me."

Chelsea looked up at him with dazzling blue eyes, her long tree-like eyelashes fluttering like butterfly's wings. Charlie could feel his heart start to dance faster and faster, until it had danced its way up his throat and was at any moment going to make its way out of his mouth and break dance on the floor. Their faces unconsciously moved towards each other: closer, closer, closer, until they were only half an inch apart. Chelsea's sweet lips pressed against his, and Charlie saw fireworks explode in front of his. An electrifying shock ran up and down his spine, invigorating and rejuvenating every muscle and bone in his body. Charlie felt himself float up into the puffy purple and pink clouds of heaven; the kissing angel that was Chelsea had taken him there on her wings of beauty and grace. He forgot entirely about Willy, the factory, his family at home, his schoolwork, his secret- there was nothing but Chelsea in this blissful heaven. Suddenly, Chelsea pulled away, and Charlie saw the clouds and fireworks disappear. Tears pricked at Chelsea's eyes.

"Chelsea? What's… what's wrong?"

"Charlie, I… I can't," Chelsea pulled away from him, and dashed out of the dance room.

"Chelsea!" Charlie ran after her, but when he turned the corner, he saw she'd already gone. He sighed dejectedly, walking slowly back to the dance room. Great. He'd gone and poured his stupid heart out to here, and come on too strong. Now she wouldn't ever like him ever. What a loser he was! Charlie sadly took a seat at the bench on the side of the auditorium, next to Veronica Walsh.

"Hey, Charlie." She said.

"Hey, Veronica." He said, staring at the entrance to see if Chelsea would come in.

"Where's your girlfriend?" she said.

"I… I don't know." He sighed, resting his chin on his hand.

"Oh." She said, opening a candy bar. Veronica was what people would call "pleasantly plump". She wasn't _fat_, but she wasn't slender and curvy like Chelsea. No one was like Chelsea, however. Chelsea was one in a million. Charlie should have known he was too… well, _ordinary_ to deserve her.

_But you're not ordinary. You're the heir to the biggest and most marvelous factory in the world!_

I'm ordinary enough to not deserve her, Charlie thought sadly. His heart had now popped out of his mouth from dancing, and was now laying trodden on the floor. Veronica had spilled something on the stomach of her pink dress, and was now cursing under her breath and trying to get it out. She sighed and gave up presently, denouncing it as a lost cause, and turned to Charlie.

"You know what makes me feel better when something goes terribly wrong?"

"What." Charlie said, even though he didn't exactly care.

"Chocolate," Veronica broke off a piece, "Specifically Wonka's Mint-and-Fudge Filled Truffle Delight."

Wow. Ironic.

"Chocolate," she said matter-of-factly, "Has been proven to make people feel better. You see, chocolate contains endorphins-"

"Which are released into the body system," Charlie droned, he had heard this one million times from Willy, since he liked to repeat himself, "giving one the feeling of happiness."

And the feeling of being in love. Love stinks.

Veronica held out the piece of fudge-and-mint-truffle-delight to him. Charlie first looked at it disapprovingly, but then shrugged and took it.

"Thanks." He said.

"No problem," Veronica said, and took a big bite out of what was left of the bar of candy.

Charlie half-heartedly bit into it. He hadn't ever thought he'd say the day when he didn't thoroughly enjoy the taste of a Wonka bar. Maybe this whole thing was just tearing him up. Maybe he'd lose his knack for candy-making forever. Willy was angry at him, Chelsea didn't want him, and he was stranded at the auditorium with a trampled heart. Charlie had been up in the blissful clouds of heaven, but now he had the feeling he had been shot down quickly and had now landed painfully on his head.


	14. A Most Stupendous Idea

**Author's Note: **Um... I forgot what I was going to tell you. Thank you for the reviews,my scrumdiddlyumptious readers! I appreciate them, and when I regain my memory I shall splatter important information about this story all over you like icing on a cake! Don't forget those random facts!

* * *

Charlie's recent behavior had surprised everyone in the chocolate factory. Willy Wonka had suspicions this whole twitter-patering would cause Charlie to be somewhat sluggish in his work, if not cause him to focus more on that blasted tutoring with his little miss strumpet. Actually, it had been rather the reverse. When Charlie wasn't working the tarnation out of his school studies, he was somewhere in the factory, inventing or fixing something that wasn't working right. Willy thought his reaction to this would be delighted, but in fact he was pretty worried for his heir. Everyone was. Charlie wasn't eating, and he would stay up late into the night either studying or putting that final touch on the latest confection concoction. Even the Oompa-Loompas were getting fidgety about it. One day Charlie felt feverish from the stress, which in turn caused Mrs. Bucket to go into hysterics. This whole teenage-hormone-love problem had really taken a toll on her. So Charlie was put to bed for the day and Mrs. Bucket was tied to the sofa, given a cup of tea, and the remote to the television.

"This is downright ridiculous," she whined.

Grandpa George, who was reading the paper on the chair nearby, chuckled to himself. "That's ironic. _This_ is downright ridiculous and we're living in a giant chocolate factory operated by midget people."

Willy was standing awkwardly over Charlie's bed. He had never liked Charlie's room, positioned right over the kitchen and den, because of its height. The house originally didn't have a second floor, but when Charlie grew old enough to have his own room, Mr. Bucket put in a few beams, right where the roof started and the walls slanted inward into one jutting triangle. This gave Charlie enough room to stand until he was about 11, until he was too tall to walk around without crouching. It didn't matter; he didn't use his room much anyway. But Willy never liked to go up there because he would bump his head constantly, even without his extremely tall hat on.

"Charlie… ow… I think you've been working too hard."

"Just catching up," Charlie didn't look up; he was reading a textbook.

"Yes, but you've been working yourself a little _too_ harshly, my boy. The… ow… the reason why I let you into my factory… ow… in the first place was because I wanted an heir, and I can't very well have an heir if he's… ow… working himself to death every day because his girlfriend doesn't feel like cuddling with him every…ow… day."

Charlie looked up with a strange look on his face. Willy couldn't tell what it was- was it anger mixed with hurt mixed with curiosity mixed with guilt? He had never seen Charlie give him a look like that; he hadn't seen Charlie give _anyone_ a look like that.

"So… ow… what I was going to… ow… propose was that you take a day off, and then we'll get back to work tomorrow. But take it easy a little, Charlie. You look pale."

"More irony!" Grandpa George shouted.

"Geraldo!" Grandma Georgina cackled.

"Willy, I really think-"

"That's an order," Willy stopped him, "As an employer to an employee. Take a day off to rest. Have some fun. I suggest going to the Detonation Room and setting off a few of those Candy Cannons. Clears up the…ow… sinuses and provides therapeutic relief."

Charlie paused, and sighed. "Well, I suppose I could."

"Good. I'll se you later then… ow…" Willy stumbled down the stairs. He grabbed his hat, brushed his shoulders off, and made ready to leave, when Sarah jumped up from out of nowhere and tackled him.

"Wonka," she whispered, "We need to talk."

Willy could only utter strange gurgling and muffled girlish shrieks as she pulled him out the door to the other side of the house.

"Anyway," she started, smoothing her dress, "Charlie's been acting down in the dumps lately. And I know that you want him up and working and well, and you know that I know that we know that the Buckets know that Charlie needs to be well again, and you and I both know that the Buckets and the rest of the factory knows about Charlie's interest. Now, even you know that Charlie is going through a very important stage in his life, and that this will affect his future as a man. And Charlie and you and the Buckets and I and the rest of the factory know that Charlie… well, he isn't an average boy going through average things. Everybody knows that Charlie is and has always been a very special boy, and now more than ever he should be able to experience special things, but _with _normal things."

Willy managed to sputter an "um" before Sarah went on.

"Anyway, Charlie will be turning 16 soon, and normal children as it is well known when they turn 16 are given a special party, their sweet sixteen."

"Go on."

"Well, I know that the whole world knows that you are the person who knows about special things, so I was thinking… I was thinking the factory should throw him a super-sweet-sixteen party."

Willy paused. "A super-sweet-sixteen-party? For Charlie?"

"Yes. And he could invite all of his friends, and his family, and-"

"Where would we hold it?"

"I haven't come up with that yet."

"Well, we can't very well hold it in here; there are vicious idea-stealing cads out there who would… would… steal things!" Willy's body began to twitch liberally at the mere thought of it.

_That little Wonka boy had sat in the cake again. It was Gracie Snozzburger's 6th birthday, and the children had been playing musical chairs. The Snozzburgers were not uncommonly rich, Fredrick Snozzburger had inherited it from his great-grandfather; the money was old and passed down from generation to generation. The Snozzburgers wanted Gracie to have a fabulous party, because six-years-old was her transition from little baby to little girl. They also wanted an excuse to show off their freshly spent hand-me-down cash and credit. So they had invited all the children from the neighborhood, and even the children on some business associates of theirs. Dr. Wonka treated Mrs. Snozzburger, so it was only prudent that they extend the invitation._

_Anyway, Gracie's party had been spectacular. Clowns lined up to blow funny-shaped balloons resembling creatures and hats and swords and whatnot, while an orchestra played a staccato harmony in the background next to the shrubbery. The table was filled with just about every sweet thing a child could ever imagine: chocolate, peppermints, ice cream, even Turkish Delight. While the children crowded around greedily to stuff their grubby fingers into the delicate pastries, Dr. Wonka held his spawn with an iron grip on the boy's shoulder, holding him back._

"_But Papa!" little Willy protested, "All the other fathers are letting their children do it!"_

"_And if the other children decided to go jump off a canyon into a colony of carnal cacti, would you do that as well?" Dr. Wonka whispered darkly. "Besides, think of all the cavities you might get. Actually, 5 out of 6 doctors recommend attending a martial-arts class instead of consuming birthday goodies." Dr. Wonka smiled behind his glasses. 'I'll tell you what. Why don't you go up to one of those clowns and have them make you a special balloon?"_

_Willy hid behind his father's leg. "I… I… I don't like clowns." He whimpered. "They frighten me."_

"_Come now, what do you have to be frightened of?"_

"_They have… t-t-they have b-b-big shoes."_

_Anyhow, later on Mrs. Snozzleburg called for a game of musical chairs. Eight chairs were lined up in a ring, nine little boys and girls scrambled to get in line, and the conductor took his position to start. The children marched slowly around the chairs, each one anticipating that awkward silence and eyeing the chair they passed greedily, some making tactical calculations on how far they should slide to make it to the next chair and whether or not pushing someone off would be completely necessary. When the music did stop, eight little children sat down rapidly, and one little girl was left sulking with her arms crossed. One chair was removed. The children got up again, and made their next march about the ring, trembling with suspense. Another little boy was pushed out of the way as seven little children scooted their little dressed-up bottoms down onto seven finely-carved seats. Another chair removed. The orchestra resumed again. The tension was even higher as seven children circumnavigated the ring of chairs, some eyeing the seats, some glancing hopefully at the prizes being displayed. The orchestra stopped. Six little boys and girls sat down quickly, giggling with malicious giddiness. Little Willy Wonka looked about him desperately and sat down on the nearest thing to him._

_Gracie Snozzleburg's favorite colors were bright pink, light blue, yellow, purple, and orange. Her favorite flavor was strawberry. So, the Snozzleburg's cook, Gaston LeBoux, who was imported from Distilles, France, worked for two days on a special strawberry cake decorated with pink-and-blue-and-yellow-and-puple-and-orange icing daffodils (her favorite flower, obviously). Had it not been the cake that little Willy sat on, he might not have been quickly snatched up and escorted roughly out by his father, the neighbors and hosts screaming angrily behind the two. Had it not been the cake, Gaston wouldn't have retired his dreams of becoming the chef for the Queen of Austria and become a hermit in Antarctica several months later. Had it not been the cake, Gracie Snozzleburg would not have screamed and bawled endlessly for days, would not have developed a terrible grudge against Willy, and in the fourth grade would not have smashed two raw eggs into his new purple sweater in science class some years later. Had it not been the cake, Willy might have been allowed and invited to go to other birthday parties after that. But it was the cake, and all of those things did happen. Accidents do happen, and cakes are prone every now and then to get sat upon and ruined. If only Dr. Wonka had observed this aloud when stripping off his son's soiled britches at home._

"_Well, at least those miserable children were saved from a terrible cavity from that sweetsy cake," Dr. Wonka grumbled._

_Willy said nothing, for he had secretly wiped a finger on his pockets and was licking the icing off of it. It was delicious._

"We could hold it outside," Willy proposed finally, "In the courtyard. Right out side the gates. But no one can come in."

"Yes!" Sarah said happily. "That's perfect. A party it is."

"A party it is," Willy echoed, almost to himself, then snapping back. "We should tell the rest of the Buckets."

"But let's keep it from Charlie; at least for a little while," Sarah said, glancing back in the house, "I think it should be somewhat of a surprise for him, at least until his spirits are a bit higher."

Willy turned to an Oompa-Loompa who had briskly walked up to him and tugged on his long waistcoat, purple, obviously. Willy bent forward in that unusual way of his, where his waist bent at a 60 degree angle. The Oompa-Loompa whispered frantically, and Willy sprung erect again. "Oh, dear. That _is_ a problem. I have to go, tons of things to do, you know," Willy grabbed his cane and made to leave, but turned back. "oh, and Miss Bucket-"

Sarah turned back. "Yes?"

"You go ahead and tell the Buckets when you think the time is right. I'll talk to all of you later."

"Right." Sarah turned to leave again, but turned back. "Oh! Mr. Wonka, I almost forgot."

Willy turned and stood expectantly. The Oompa-Loompa pulled out a rather expensive pocket-watch and tapped his small foot impatiently.

"Leonardo DaVinci invented the scissors! Isn't that wonderful?"

"I suppose."

"No, really- if the scissors hadn't been invented, you would have never been able to cut the ribbon on the opening day of your factory! I saw a photograph of it in Charlie's room."

Willy paused thoughtfully. "I suppose that would be a problem. I would have had to tear it with my teeth."

"Or a meat cleaver," Sarah offered.

Willy stared at her for a moment, and walked away very quickly. Sarah had a spasm of excitement, and skipped merrily inside to go tell the rest of the Buckets about the surprise party.


End file.
